


Under My Thumb

by bubastis



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Aquaria plays herself, Cracker hates herself, Craquaria - Freeform, Denial of Feelings, Drunk Sex, Eventual Smut, I love bad swears and pain, M/M, Miscommunication, They love being self-destructive and dumb, angst angst angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-05-18 16:51:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14856554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubastis/pseuds/bubastis
Summary: Miz Cracker and Aquaria haven't really made up during the filming of s10 and there's a lot of... frustration in the workroom.





	1. Under My Thumb

**Author's Note:**

> The timeline of this fic is a bit muddled. Let's just say the first chapter takes place shortly before Monet leaves. This is supposed to be about a month into filming. I also hate editing and I haven't written fics in a very long time, so I apologise beforehand.

(Aquaria's pov)

 

It was week four of filming drag race. Although the queens were getting fewer and fewer, the tension in the workroom was only rising. Everyone was exhausted and it showed. Although she tried to deny it, the tension was getting to Aquaria as well. It's not that she was lying to her sisters – as far as the challenges went, Aquaria felt more or less confident. She felt on edge for different reasons.

Like, for one, in the beginning she hadn't really felt included in the group, the others had misunderstood her. But ok, her relationships with her sisters had been improving. _Baby steps, Aquaria. Baby steps._ Grudgingly she had to admit that it wasn't that there was tension between her and other queens, plural...just between her and Miz Cracker. After their altercation early on in the filming they had somewhat made up behind the scenes, but what they had now couldn't be called a friendship, not really. Aquaria knew that Cracker forgave, but didn't forget. They just promised to play nice.

But being in each other's proximity was not easy. Aquaria remembered how close they used to be before drag race. And it was a long time before drag race – their falling out didn't happen on set, it happened over 6 months before they even stepped foot into the workroom, and they had dealt with it by not speaking to each other. Here they couldn't do that, they were literally forced to be in the same room. Consequently, the words they exchanged would sometimes momentarily bring back the illusion that they were close again. When Cracker had to go fix her outfit for the runway or when the producers interrupted them, the spell was broken, and Aquaria just felt sad. She knew the feeling wasn't mutual, Cracker was wary of her, but it was a feeling of loss that she hadn't experienced when they initially stopped talking because their issues just weren't addressed. Out of sight, out of mind. She had just thought, _well, that's life. People change, friends can drift apart._

This feeling of underlying tension seldom left Aquaria while they were in the workroom, but she tried not to dwell on it. And when the day was over, Aquaria went back to her hotel room and didn't try to psychoanalyse herself. She was just too tired.

*****

However, as she was busy getting ready for this week's runway, Aquaria did indeed forget about everything else. Focusing on her own reflection in the mirror, she meticulously flicked her eyeliner. She was trying to finish her face as soon as possible, so she could finally put on her outfit. Aquaria had nothing against a boy chest, but the workroom was only mildly better than a freezer. Her eyes scanned the makeup station in front of her. _Now where are the lashes?_

She turned around, widening her search perimeter--at the same time Miz Cracker walked past her workstation. Seeing the other queen from the corner of her eye, Aquaria reflexively looked up from her little search. Cracker didn't seem to notice that Aquaria was looking at her, and...

It's very quick, not even a second – _thighs, navel, chest._ She's almost completely sure that Cracker gave her a once-over. Their eyes meet, Cracker abruptly turns around, and asks Monet for something. Aquaria forgets about the lashes she was looking for and tries to do something _-anything-_ to her makeup in an attempt to hide the fact her heart is beating like a fucked clock. _Did she imagine it? Was Cracker checking her out?_ She could've sworn there was a look on Cracker's face, the proverbial glint in the eye, that she had never seen directed at her before.

She couldn't flatter herself too much, everyone was slowly losing their minds. The workroom was oozing with sexual frustration and no one had any satisfactory outlet for it. Seeing the pit crew really hadn't improved the situation; in fact, it had made it worse. What really surprised Aquaria was her own reaction. She had to admit that it excited her. The thought that Cracker found her desirable was electrifying; it gave her a feeling of power that she felt she had been missing these past few weeks. Yes, off-camera they had addressed and seemingly reconciled their issues, but in practice all it meant was Aquaria explaining herself and apologising over and over again. Which was the right thing to do, of course. The only thing is Aquaria was going out of her way to be nice to Cracker and to fix their friendship, and she could feel that Cracker was still giving her the cold shoulder. Well, Cracker was either doing that or just being outright shady. Aquaria had heard too many jokes about her being stupid, cocky, or boring. If her interpretation was correct, she had the upper hand now.

To test out this theory, she walked over to the other queen's station. Miz Cracker had almost finished getting ready; Aquaria looked over her shoulder, now well into her personal space, seemingly searching for something.

“Hey, can I borrow some lashes?”

Cracker sputtered. “Oh...Sure...Yeah. Um. Here.”

Aquaria chose a suitable pair an walked back to her own station to finish her look, barely able to conceal a smile. _Dare she say...Cracker was being uncharacteristically awkward?_

 

 

 

 


	2. Private Dancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girls get a night out, of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a longer chapter, but I have no self-control, so I decided to split it into two parts, so I could upload it today. I just noticed Aquaria smiles a lot in this fic and that's DEFINITELY because she's a fucking cutie, ok. Also, I'm sticking with F pronouns for now, but they're all supposed to be out of drag here.

 

The club wasn't packed. In fact, the 'club' wasn't even a club, it was actually a big room, adjacent to a bar, inside of their hotel. Before the shooting for the day was over, everyone had been promised a surprise. This was it. As they wouldn't be filming over the weekend, the drag race production team had decided to organise a little night out for everybody. Of course, they couldn't let the remaining queens wander off to some LA club, so they set up a cheap replica of one inside their hotel, closed off from prying eyes, with the only people there being from the drag race crew and the queens themselves. But hey, no one was complaining. The general consensus was that this was much needed. A night out could do wonders for stress management and there was a lot of it to be managed.

The lights were a blueish-purple neon shade and low, the music loud, and the drinks many. Aquaria was enjoying the lot of it, cheap as it was. Some of the other queens had already been chatting among themselves about whether there was anyone among the crew who they'd go for, but Aquaria was only absentmindedly hearing what they were saying. It's not like the conversation would really lead anywhere, there were still not more than 20 people, queens included, in the room, half of them girls, and most of the other men straight. The only one who actually seemed to stand a chance with anyone was Monet; she had been eyeing a cute camera operator and he was returning the look.

No, Aquaria was not here for that. She just wanted to dance. And...perhaps to see if she could get Miz Cracker to embarrass herself again, like she did earlier that day in the workroom. Aquaria had definitely not forgotten that and she had no intention of letting it go. If Cracker was horny and suddenly, against her will, found herself attracted to Aquaria, the younger queen was determined to drive her crazy.

The thought that this plan –-if it could even be called that since Aquaria had scarcely thought it out-- was somewhat weird didn't really cross her mind. It was all in good fun, it's not like anything would happen. She knew Cracker would never in a million years actually approach her, they had too much history, most of the recent one being pretty bad.

 

While getting ready for the night out in her hotel room, Aquaria had decided to put a little more effort into her appearance. Meaning – she picked out the tightest pair of black jeans that she had and a white, ultra sheer tank top/undershirt that fit her like a glove and revealed a vast expanse of her chest. She tucked the tank top into her jeans, adding a belt to finish the look.

_What else?_ Her eyes darted around the room, looking for ideas. _Highlighter._ If her chest was going to be more or less exposed, she might as well accentuate it; she applied highlighter all over her upper body, adding an extra layer on her collarbones, but keeping it to a level that didn't turn her into the Tin Man. Looking at her reflection, she liked what she saw. Her look was simple, yet almost obscene, especially when the lights hit her from certain angles. She knew that in the dark her body would be glistening. She wanted to see Cracker squirm.

 

Now that they were all in the club room, Aquaria, to her disappointment, couldn't seem to even catch Cracker's eye. In fact, the older queen wasn't dancing, she was having a conversation with Asia and Eureka. Or rather listening in and nodding every once in a while. Aquaria had no idea what it was about, but she guessed they were no longer talking about the guys from the crew. Even Monet had had enough; she had left them to join others on the dance floor.

Because Cracker wasn't dancing, Aquaria ended up sort of drifting in between the sitting area and the dance floor, unsuccessfully trying to grab the other queen's attention by just being around her. Trying to be in both places at once meant that she couldn't properly enjoy her evening. _What the fuck?_ Now she was pissed off. Aquaria knew she looked good but Cracker didn't seem to notice her at all.

She was dragged out of her thoughts by Kameron who pulled her in the direction of Monet and her new beau. Her New York sister promptly put in her hand a glass of what she suspected was a Long Island ice tea. It was strong, but if Cracker was going to be like this the whole evening, strong was good. After all, Aquaria had figured she'd have the upper hand for once after their little incident from earlier, but now she felt worse off than before.

The noise was getting louder and the four of them danced like idiots. Whoever was choosing the music was clearly sticking to the theme; there must've been at least three Rupaul songs played one after another. Although she was still inconspicuously glancing at Cracker, whether in the mirror behind the bar in front of her or while doing some dance move, Aquaria was starting to have some fun.

About fifteen minutes into their little dance-off she realised that there actually wasn't an official DJ; people were free to put on what they wanted. She saw an opportunity and took it.

On her way to the booth she exchanged her now empty glass for another; then she queued a number of songs and strutted back to her sisters.

Monet teased her. “Oh Miss Aquaria...are you going to be our DJ tonight?”

“Mhmm.” She smiled.

 

The first song promptly started playing. The queens cheered; it was by Divine. Aquaria seemed to be the only one who knew that particular number, however.

_T-shirts and tight blue jeans, t-shirts_ _  
T-shirts and tight blue jeans, t-shirts, I like it, I like it--_

The atmosphere underwent a subtle change. It was still a great club song, but it wasn't exactly a sweet, fun pop number. Aquaria was feeling herself, lipsyncing and moving her body like she had an audience, because she hoped that she did.

She looked up into the mirror and saw Cracker lift her eyes; the other queen's expression didn't give anything away. _What's on your mind, Cracker?_

_To coin a phrase you're the cat's meow  
And I'm the dog so Bow-wow-wow-- _

 

Aquaria's playlist continued playing. The songs were all in the same vein, meaning sexual, but no one seemed to have noticed. Divine was followed by Sylvester's 'Taking Love Into My Own Hands'...

_You've been dancing all night long with so many different guys_

_I waited patiently for you to notice me but I never caught your eye_

_Make some room because I'm coming through--_

 

...followed by Madonna

_Erotica, give it up, give it up, romance_

_I'd like to put you in a trance--_

 

followed by Lady Gaga...

_Last night, I was thinking about you_  
_And it was kind of dirty_  
_And the way that you looked at me_  
_It was kind of nasty_  
_It was kind of trashy_  
_'Cause I can't help my mind from going there--_

Aquaria put on a show to each and every one of them leading Monet and Kameron to gently poke fun at her.

“She really thinks she's that girl, huh?” Monet sipped on her drink.

Kameron laughed.

Aquaria smirked in response, briefly interrupting her lipsync. “I _am_ that girl.”

 

Asia and Eureka had decided to dance as well, leaving Cracker on her own. Monet tried to drag her to the dance floor but it was not working, so she brought Cracker another drink and joined her on the couch.

 

The next song was Private Dancer and Aquaria somehow ended up pretty much dancing on her own; the other queens were more interested in chatting even though they were on the dance floor. Aquaria didn't want her groove interrupted. Besides she was starting to feel the drinks she had had.

Her movements were graceful and sensual. Tina Turner somehow mixed well with her current state; she briefly closed her eyes and smiled.

When she opened her eyes once again, she decided that enough was enough. She turned in the direction of Cracker and Monet, glided closer to their table, and continued dancing and lipsyncing. Since Monet was there as well, she figured her intentions wouldn't be obvious.

“Oh look, Cracker. We're getting a private show.”

_I'm your private dancer, a dancer for money  
I'll do what you want me to do--_

Cracker didn't respond. She couldn't _not_ look at Aquaria, but she couldn't look at her either. Aquaria managed to catch her eye for a second, trying to read her expression, but suddenly the song, and the mood in the room, changed.

 

Monet screamed and jumped up to her feet. It was Whitney Houston and, of course, no one could ignore Whitney Houston. In her excitement, Monet also somehow managed to pull Cracker to the dance floor along with her. If she had been bringing Cracker the same drinks she had been bringing Aquaria, this was perhaps not so surprising.

No one in the room was lipsyncing anymore. Instead, they all proceeded to sing along to 'I Wanna Dance With Somebody' at the top of their lungs. _God, the other guests at the hotel must hate our guts_.

Aquaria saw Cracker laughing. She had no idea what had been on the older queen's mind previously, but now she was pretty sure she could read her. _Cracker must think we're all idiots,_ Aquaria smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me, come punch me in the gut, etc.


	3. Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations, Aquaria. You've played yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall remember I said I'd split chapter 2 into two parts? Well...make that three. I'm so sorry, lol. 
> 
> Please give me feedback or something; I've never written more than two chapters of fanfiction, ever. 
> 
> tw smoking

Whitney Houston had swept people up into a veritable frenzy; they were all suddenly huddled together in the centre of the dance floor trying to outperform one another, with some of the crew members surprisingly giving even Aquaria a run for her money. 

Ever the show-off, the young queen was determined to grace every person with a one-on-one show, her gaze turning to a different drag race sister every few lines.  _There's nothing like audience participation, right?_

Following her example, the queens slipped into brief, comedically dramatic duets. Kameron took Aquaria's hand and twirled her around; Monet was jokingly backing it up against the cute camera guy, apparently under the impression that she was Miley Cyrus; Asia was so into her own little dance she managed to spill half of her drink without even noticing; Eureka was Eureka. And Cracker...well, Miz Cracker was the definition of composure—although she was dancing and singing, Aquaria noticed.

In drag, the Miz Cracker brand was stupid, but as a boy it was anything but; no amount of booze would get her to make a fool of herself in public. The only thing that seemed to make her open up was drag. Aquaria chalked it up to a strange mix of deep insecurities and a superiority complex that simultaneously inhabited the same head.

Kameron changed partners and pulled Cracker towards her, leaving Aquaria with Eureka.

Not content with her lot and eager to have a moment with the older queen, Aquaria waited as few seconds as possible to steal her away without arousing suspicion. She stared at Cracker until she briefly looked away from Kameron and promptly caught her gaze.

Flashing her a grin, Aquaria moved closer and continued lipsyncing. She cocked her head to the side, feigning offence, and pointed her finger at her.

  _Dontcha wanna dance with me baby?  
Dontcha wanna dance with me boy—_

Miz Cracker looked at her with a polite smile. Being in a somewhat drunken haze, Aquaria almost didn't notice that the other queen had stopped singing.

 

******

Once the song was over, some of the queens decided to do shots. In between Jagerbombs, which she found disgusting, but not disgusting enough to pass up, Aquaria found herself laughing at some of the stories the now-drunk drag race crew were sharing about past contestants.

About half an hour and many drinks later the conversations became indecipherable and Aquaria felt herself getting bored. Her eyes scanned the room--Miz Cracker had gone awol. Trying to think back, she realised that she hadn't seen the other queen in a while.

She caught sight of Kameron coming out a black door that she hadn't noticed before and approached her. “Hey, do you know where Cracker is?”

“Yeah, girl, I just left her in the smoking room.”

“Oh,” Aquaria tried to conceal her surprise. “Could I borrow a cigarette?”

“Sure thing! Just take the whole pack, you can give it back later.” Kameron smiled and went to join her sisters, leaving Aquaria standing in front of the door nervously tapping her fingers against the pack of cigarettes she had been left with.

She mustered up a shred of courage and opened the door. The smoking room was, indeed, a room—and one without windows or ventilation at that. The smell of smoke assaulted her nostrils as soon as she entered and made her rub her eyes.

Aquaria was pretty sure she had found herself in another dimension. Besides the smell, there was something weird about the place. It was small, windowless, and only illuminated by one red light bulb that hung precariously from the ceiling; the heavy doors distorted the music playing in the other room and the lingering cigarette smoke made the contours of everything look as if covered by fog.

The room was empty except for Miz Cracker who was sitting on a bench directly opposite the entrance with her head laid back against the wall. Her eyes were turned to the ceiling, absentmindedly following the eddies of smoke in the red light.

Aquaria noticed her immediately; out of her own volition, her gaze fixated on Cracker's neck, laid bare and oh-so accessible. She swallowed hard and willed herself to peel her eyes away. 

Hearing the door close, Cracker looked down to see who was intruding on her alone time and took a drag.

Aquaria leaned against the opposite wall and put a cigarette between her lips. She didn't smoke—she didn't even like smoking. Her hands were trembling slightly, but she didn't think Cracker could see that.

“Got a light?”

“Since when do you smoke?”

“Since when do you?”

Aquaria walked over to Cracker's side and sat down next to her. The older queen turned to pass her the lighter. Instead of taking it, Aquaria just leaned in. Cracker snorted and lit her cigarette.

“I don't.”

“Huh?” Aquaria looked at her, confused.

“I don't smoke.”

Cracker's voice was hoarse; she leaned her head back against the wall, looking up to the ceiling with glazed eyes, exposing her neck once again. She took another drag.

Aquaria used every ounce of willpower she had to look somewhere else, again. Maybe it was because she was drunk, but somehow she wasn't surprised when she felt a twitch in her pants. It felt...natural, like something she knew would happen. _Of course._ Of course she'd end up like this, here, and with Cracker.

Contrary to popular opinion, Aquaria wasn't a very sexual person; she had needs that she took care of—mostly by herself— but she never consciously lingered on thoughts of a sexual nature, never analysed them. Which is probably why she thought her little game would be all in good fun. Sober, she hadn't fucking realised she found Cracker attractive, while her subconscious was screaming _You dumb bitch_ all along.

Suddenly her decision to wear the tightest jeans she owned seemed like the stupidest idea she'd ever had.

Aquaria tried to pull herself out of her thoughts. “You're smoking now though”

“I quit two years ago. Tonight is...”

“Tonight is what?” Aquaria dared to lean her head down on Cracker's shoulder, exhaling smoke. _Bad idea._ She could smell her perfume.  

They stayed like that for a minute, just smoking and not saying a word. Aquaria wouldn't by any means call it a comfortable silence. With every second she was growing increasingly aware of how close they were, yet the prospect of sitting up straight seemed equally awkward.

Suddenly the older queen looked down, her voice seething with barely contained anger. “What the fuck are you doing, Aquaria?”

As if caught in the middle of some lewd act, Aquaria immediately removed her head from Cracker's shoulder. Her cheeks were burning, even though she wasn't sure what exactly she was guilty of. “I'm sorry?”

“I know what you're doing. Stop it.”

Aquaria finished her cigarette and immediately took out another one; she needed a distraction, badly. She spotted the lighter on the bench on Cracker's other side and reached over her lap to take it.

Before she could lean back or figure out how to respond, Cracker gently, but firmly grabbed her wrist. “You shouldn't smoke, you know.”

Surprised, Aquaria looked into her eyes. They were face to face, with hardly any space in between. _And that's not my fucking fault, Cracker._ Aquaria could feel the warmth of her breath and for the first time she realised that the other queen was just as drunk as she was.

“Tell me what it is that I'm doing and light my cigarette, bitch.”

Cracker dropped Aquaria's wrist and looked away; her demeanour changed, the anger and intensity seemed to evaporate into thin air and were replaced by something that looked a lot like shame. Aquaria had no idea what was going through her mind—or her own for that matter, apparently. 

The door to the room opened and a few crew members came in, chatting and laughing.

Cracker got up, mumbled a half-hearted “See ya”, and left Aquaria on her own before she managed to say anything else. 

She lit her cigarette and tried to figure out what was happening. What did Cracker think she was doing? Did she think she was fucking with her? Granted...she was. But now she also wanted to _fuck_ her. Or did she think that Aquaria was coming onto her and Cracker just wasn't interested? That would be the worst-case scenario, hands down. Or was this not even about that? Was Aquaria just so desperate for any bits and pieces of Cracker's attention that she had imagined she was on Cracker's mind in the first place? No... _that_ was the worst-case scenario. She needed another shot just to put that thought to rest. 

 


	4. Playing With Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's what yall have been waiting for AKA smut. They're both pretty drunk and, um... Aquaria's (kind of) a virgin, but Cracker doesn't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making unemployment work for me. Sorry this took so long, I didn't want to mess it up and I freaked out. 
> 
> Also, I wasn't sure what to do about pronouns—I changed them to he/him when the smut starts.

Aquaria didn't stay among the smoke for too long, but, as she entered the main room, she still needed to figure some things out--and fast. If she didn't do anything about her situation with Miz Cracker now, she doubted whether she would do anything about it ever, yet the two of them would still be as awkward with each other as before, maybe even worse.

And, fuck, she wanted to do _something._ The booze might not be helping her think, but it did give her liquid courage.

She could already tell by the music choices that the party seemed to be dying away; some people were already leaving and heading back to their rooms for the night, some in couples, but most on their own. Monet was tonguing the guy she had been flirting with the whole evening.

Aquaria chuckled, walking by them. “Get a fucking room!”

“Hey, Aquaria—”

She turned around; Miz Cracker stood before her, apparently on her way out, looking embarrassed.

“I just wanted to apologise—sorry for being weird earlier, ok? I thought—I misinterpreted something.” Cracker's eyes conveyed her sincerity; she was being so fucking mature it kind of pissed Aquaria off.

“I feel like conspiracy theorist, goddammit!” The older queen laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

“It's fine...” Aquaria gave her a little smile. And, as an innocent afterthought...“Hey, if you're leaving now—well, I heard you have a sewing machine? Is there any chance I could borrow it over the weekend?”

Cracker seemed relieved. “Yeah, sure! You can take it, if you want!”

Asia saw them leaving together; her jaw dropped, not sure if she was seeing what she thought she was seeing.

 

***

Cracker's room turned out to be just opposite of hers. _How convenient_ , Aquaria thought. Cracker unlocked the door and turned on the light.

“Well, I'm sure it's somewhere...” She started looking around and going through her things.

While she was rummaging through her closet, Aquaria took the opportunity to get up on Cracker's bed. A smirk spread over her face; she propped herself up on her elbows, observing her. No doubt Cracker was completely oblivious to the younger queen's intentions.

Aquaria finally felt like she was in charge. _Self-confidence, girl. Fake it 'til you make it._ And she was doing just that.

A petulant whine: “Ugh...I'm so horny.”

Miz Cracker froze in her tracks. 

A moment of silence; and before the other queen could say anything Aquaria continued, her voice laced with curiosity and mischief. "Were you checking me out in the workroom earlier today?" 

Cracker suddenly turned around. "You bitch. You fucking _bitch_! I wasn't being delusional aftera—"

"—Because if you were, I've got a proposal. "

The other queen stared at her, speechless. 

"Sit. I don't like you looking down at me." Aquaria commanded, impressed by her own tone. She was barely able to stop her hands from shaking.

Miz Cracker hesitantly walked over to the bed, looking at her like Aquaria was some rabid animal that might pounce on her at any second. Aquaria rolled her eyes and patted the spot beside her. Cracker sat down.

"So—as you know, drag race is a lot of work and what not—and everyone's sexually frustrated. Because we have no porn. So, like, why not help each other out, right?" Aquaria felt like she had suddenly become Don fucking Draper, trying to pitch a lucrative business deal—a very drunk Don Draper who could barely string a sentence together.

Cracker looked amused, but apparently didn't seem to take her seriously. In a swift move Aquaria rolled over and straddled her hips, causing her to let out a surprised gasp. " _Gio—_ " 

She swallowed hard at the mention of her— _his_ —real name. When was the last time Cracker had called him that?

"—if you're messing with me—" 

"I'm not." He grinded his hips against Cracker's, eliciting another gasp.

"This is a fantastically bad idea."

"It's a great idea. Come on, you can let it all out—take it out on me." His hand moved across Cracker's chest.

Mouth twisting into a pout, "I've been so bad, Max—"

Max stared at him with an open mouth, speechless. Gio tentatively proceeded to roll his hips, picking up a slow and steady rhythm. 

A realisation dawned on his face and he stopped moving. "Unless you're not into it? Then just—push me off or, like, better yet knock me the fuck out so I can forget I—"

Max grabbed his shirt and yanked him down, the other hand coming up to his face, getting lost in his hair and making a mess of it—the kiss was hard; their mouths clashed awkwardly, teeth against teeth, then soft lips against soft lips. Max tugged at his lip; Gio shivered, needily opening his mouth for more—then tongues—Gio moaned into his mouth, no longer in control of whatever sounds his body decided to make. 

Max's lips trailed along his jawline and down his neck, hands unbuckling Gio's belt and sneaking behind to touch his ass. Gio tilted back his head, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure—Max pressed his lips against the exposed skin over his collarbone.

Demanding more, Gio took his hand and guided it to his crotch. His hips nudged forward; Max hummed against his ear, no doubt aware that Gio was already hard, his hand obligingly palming his cock over the fabric of his pants. 

Ever the hard worker, Max used his other hand to clumsily pull at Gio's tank top, trying to get it off. The thin fabric ripped; Gio looked down at his chest, then at the other man.

A smirk spread over his face. "Oh, _Miz Cracker!"_

Max let out a hoarse laugh and hid his face in his hands, turning a shade of red. Gio used the opportunity to unzip and pull down Max's pants and tucked his fingers beneath the edge of his underwear, softly teasing the skin there.

"Don't—I kind of liked it." Gio shyly mumbled under his breath. Max slightly lowered his hands and peered at him, the remnants of a smile, and blush, still lingering on his face.

Gio couldn't help but think it was one of the fucking cutest, and hottest, things he'd ever seen. He proceeded to discard what not long ago had been his tank top and leaned down, taking the hands that were still partly hiding Max's face in his own and guiding them to his waist; he felt Max's fingers pressing into him, hard, traveling over the bare skin of his back. It occurred to him that he'd have a lot of work to do before the next runway, just covering bruises. Gio swallowed a groan, the thought made his cock strain against the front of his pants almost embarrassingly hard.

It really wasn't fair that the other man still had his shirt on, Gio thought, and quickly remedied the situation; taking cue from him, Max removed Gio's jeans. The younger man pulled back for a second, just to look down and bask in the sight of his conquest in his (almost) full glory. He had seen him practically naked while they were getting into drag, but he had never dared to stare. Max had a good body; he had a small build but he was surprisingly strong, and the lights in the hotel room seemed to be conspiring to torture Gio by accentuating his every muscle. 

He scarcely dared to look at his arms, the stream of pornographic fantasies that flowed through his mind would surely lead him to a premature heart attack. He wanted Max to do things to him that he was too good of a boy to have even considered doing before, sober. This was not helped by the way the other man was looking at him, mouth parted and lust clear in his eyes.

He placed a brief kiss against Max's mouth, causing him to lift his head, trying to recapture Gio's lips. Gio evaded him, grinning, and pressed his mouth to the base of his neck, sucking lightly, drawing a guttural moan from the other man. Max arched his back— _a beautiful sight_ , Gio thought, entranced—trying to get closer to his body. 

Eager to oblige, his tongue carved out a path down his chest, nearing the bulge in his underwear. Gio inadvertently licked his lips, pleased to find Max was equally hard, and reached into his own boxers, unwilling to wait any longer. His eyes shut in bliss; with one hand furiously stroking his cock, his mouth traced the outline of Max's erection. _Fuck—_ _._  Precum was already seeping through the thin fabric, and Gio was desperate for a taste. Max's hand once again found itself in his hair, now a complete mess. Gio looked up, like the little whore he had suddenly become—not that he was complaining, _at all_.

 _"Please_ —" 

Without missing a beat he pulled down the other man's underwear. A lick down his shaft, eyes not leaving Max's: "Fuck my mouth." 

A second, then two, pass; Max stroking his hair, looking at him, unsure: "Should I turn off the light?"

"Don't you fucking  _dare._ "

"Wow—you really are a bossy bottom, huh?" Max chuckled. Gio didn't find it annoying that Max apparently made jokes in the bedroom— _Typical Cracker_ —, but he swallowed hard at the word 'bottom'. Because he wasn't. At all. He had been with very few people and they had seldom full-on fucked. And those times he had been on top. It's not that he had a moral objection to bottoming, he had just never wanted to do it with anyone—and he had had plenty of offers.

 _Were they going to fuck?_ Stupidly, he hadn't thought about it,—when he came to Max's room he had thought that, if anything, they might exchange hand jobs or blowjobs, something quick, unimportant—but he was thinking about it now. _Probably not the best time._ More confusing still, he realised almost instantly that all of a sudden he wanted it. The thought, and the mental image of Max fucking him, sent shivers down his spine in all the best ways. 

He wrapped his mouth around Max's erection and hummed a coy "Mhmm" in response. The other man instinctively pushed up his hips; Gio gagged, tears forming in the corner of his eyes and spit drooling down his chin. _Yes, he definitely wanted it._ His mouth quickly accommodated Max's cock, as he took up Gio's earlier invitation, thrusting up, hard. 

Gio looked at him, hardly even blinking, mesmerized. Max was a picture-perfect sight; his jaw clenched, trying to restrain the moans that ever so often skipped his mouth anyway, his body glistening with sweat.

Gio could tell he was close, so he stopped stroking himself. It was now or never. He lifted up his head, causing the other man to whine at the loss of contact.

"Would you—would you like to fuck me?" He was nervous. What if this was one step too far? If Cracker rejected him, he might literally die from embarrassment. 

Max smirked, amused, sensing the anxiety in his voice. "Are you offering?" 

 _Fine, have your fun, you dick._ Gio lifted up his chin, defiant, but easy to read.

Still smirking, Max reached with one hand into the bedside drawer and took out a bottle of lube. "Get up."

He did—too eagerly for his own liking—, and Max flipped them around, laying him down on the bed. Gio heard himself let out an embarrassingly-obvious and excited inhale at being manhandled. Max chuckled, squeezing lube onto his hands.  

"Oh. shit." A realization dawned on his face, as he looked at his hands. "Grab my pants—check the pockets."

Gio did as he was told and found a condom. Somewhat drunkenly he raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips: "So you were counting on having sex tonight?"

"Well, not with you."

"Oh." His face dropped slightly.

Max snorted. "You idiot, I didn't know you wanted to. Obviously." 

Gio's eyes crinkled, smile back on his face.

"Stop being stupid and put the fucking condom on, Aqua." 

He obeyed and fell back down on the sheets. Max put the lube on his cock and pulled Gio to him, angling up their bodies while stroking Gio's erection. He was quite literally putty in Max's hands; one of his legs snaked around his waist, pleading for him to be closer. 

He felt the other man grind his cock against his ass; Gio bit the inside of his cheek, simultaneously excited yet terrified. "Cracker—Max...can you prepare me, please?"

Max looked at him, somewhat surprised, the hungry expression in his eyes mixed with a gentle look. "Of course." He brushed a strand of black hair away from Gio's eyes and pressed his lips to the skin just below his ear. Gio suddenly found his heart doing somersaults and nothing short of a circus troupe had surely taken over his stomach. _What on earth was that?_

But he didn't have time to process much of anything—he felt Max's fingers penetrate him, one at a time—he winced, at first—pressed his head into Max's shoulder, nails digging into his back—Max stroked his face, calming him—then— _Oh. Oh god._

Max sensed the change and pulled out from him, making Gio whimper. _"Please—"_

The hand on his cheek moved down to his neck, closing around it slightly—the fingers were replaced by something much, _much_ better—Max took his time pushing into his body, struggling to hold himself back, to Gio's satisfaction—Gio flushed with warmth, whispering, mumbling something completely incoherent, begging for more, both legs now wrapped around Max, locking him in like a vice—Max picked up the pace, complying with his demands.

"God, you're so—"

Gio knew what he wanted to say. _God, you're so tight._ But Max was too, well, _Max_ ; no one would ever catch him spouting porn clichés in the bedroom. 

"Kiss me. When I'm being fucked I like to get kissed." 

Max let out a laugh. "Are you—quoting Dog Day Afternoon while I'm inside you? You never cease to amaze."

Timidly, "Kiss me anyway?" 

He did. Gio closed his eyes, smiling; Max tasted like whiskey and chocolate-chip cookies. He had a feeling he would always remember that taste when he thought about his so-called first time. 

They came almost simultaneously, falling asleep on the still-made bedsheets in the mess they had made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I damn near lost my mind writing this and that's the real tea. Sorry about any mistakes. I would VERY much appreciate your thoughts, as I can barely read this over at this point.


	5. Shellshock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath. Things don't go according to Aquaria's plan, again—although she doesn't even know what her plan is—and she realises Miz Cracker is a bit of a whore. 
> 
> Somehow this turned into a weird mix of humour and angst.

_Oh god—Oh. God._

Giovanni refused to wake up. His head was pounding, his mouth tasted like an ashtray, he smelled like booze and sweat—and his entire, _entire_ , body felt sore. Not one for blackouts, his memory, however, was perfectly in tact. Gio wasn't quite sure whether that was a blessing or a curse.

_"Kiss me. When I'm being fucked I like to get kissed."_

_"Are you—quoting Dog Day Afternoon while I'm inside you?"_

A hand shot up to his face and he let out a groan. _Why, Giovanni? Why?_

 _Shit._  Gio remembered one other thing—he was still in Cracker's room. He tentatively opened one eye, vision blurry, but suddenly assaulted by an unexpected flash of hot pink. He turned around to lay on his back and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. A light-weight pink fabric was strewn across his otherwise naked form. It seemed familiar **—** he vaguely recalled seeing it in the workroom before.

Gio looked around the room, there was no sight of the other man. Heat crept up his face; they had been so exhausted they hadn't even gotten under the covers which meant that Cracker must have found him in the morning lying face-down, ass-up and drooling on his sheets. 

He lifted himself up into a sitting position and pulled the pink mock blanket around him. His eyes, now reasonably open, caught sight of two things—first, the cum stains he had left on Cracker's bed—and second, the sewing machine that had appeared on the desk. He didn't know what to do about either of them. 

A knock on the door startled him out of his reverie. "Señor Cracker, room cleaning!"

He clutched the fabric tighter around his body. "Uh—I'm sorry, could you please come back in like ten minutes??"

The woman's steps retreated and he let out a sigh of relief. Now where were his clothes?

*****

The weekend flew by quickly. It was once again 7am on a chilly LA monday morning and time to get back to the studio to face another day in the workroom. After sneaking out from his room, Gio had neither seen nor heard from his Friday-night hookup—which, he supposed, wasn't surprising. The day after the party they were once again put under lockdown, sequestered in their own rooms. 

Gio didn't have a clue what to expect from the other man when he saw him again. Would there be awkwardness? Would Cracker—no,  _Max_ —have regrets? Would they talk about it? He didn't even know what he wanted to happen. He knew that he had enjoyed it—a lot, and much more than he had anticipated. He hoped the feeling was mutual.

Maybe he was corny but something about the way Max had treated him—the way he had touched his face, the way his fingers had gotten lost in his hair—gave him the feeling that they might be able salvage their trainwreck of a friendship, that Max might forgive him, at last—because Max cared for him. They had fucked, of course, but it was somehow more intimate—they hadn't fucked as strangers, he thought. Perhaps that's why he didn't feel an insurmountable sense of anxiety as he headed to the vehicle that would take them to the studio. He felt hope.

The feeling was short-lived. He got into the van, fashionably late as always, and flashed everyone—but especially a certain someone—a big smile. "Mornin'!"

Monet chuckled. "Well, someone's awfully chipper for a 7am drive."  

He looked over to Max, trying to read his emotions, but the man gave him nothing. Not an angry or awkward or sad I'm-purposefully-ignoring-you nothing, just— _nothing_. In fact, he looked more unbothered than he had been this whole competition. Which had kind of been the point of their hookup, as Gio had put it—to release pent-up tension. He just hadn't expected quite this successful of an outcome.

Back in the workroom it was, again, the same story: Max was paying him little to no attention, and it was driving the younger man crazy. On top of that, they were given a makeover challenge, which Giovanni should've been excited about—instead, he found himself getting annoyed, it was just the thing to make the likelihood of the two of them having a moment close to impossible. 

In one of the rare moments the queens had for themselves Monet was talking to Cracker about her Friday night adventures; Aquaria was working on her own stuff nearby, innocently listening in. 

"So how was your evening, Cracks?" 

"Pretty good—I think we all needed that. You know, just some time to let off steam and have fun. It's like the mood in the workroom has lifted today. Even Kameron's being all chatty." 

"And some of us let off more steam than others, wink wink"

Aquaria turned her eyes to Cracker, searching her face for a reaction. 

An almost unnoticeable moment of silence, then: "Are you talking about Michael?"

"Of course I'm talking about Michael. What did you think I was talking about?" Monet chuckled.

"I thought maybe you knew something I didn't, girl." Cracker laughed, dodging her question like a pro, Aquaria thought.

"Michael was lovely. A beautiful specimen of a man, truly. And, you know...his dick was even lovelier. I think we're going on an official date after we're done with the filming." Monet swooned, smile up to her ears. 

Cracker snorted. "Your face, girl—you literally look like the cat who got the cream." 

"I did get the cream, bitch." 

"Just don't fuck it up or he might give you a nasty edit." 

"He's a camera operator, the only thing he can give me is a nasty STD." Monet shushed her, smiling. 

A moment of comfortable silence; her eyes trailed to the other queen's neck and her jaw dropped to the floor. "Hold on— _Cracks!_ —is that a bruise?! You sly fox! And here I am talking about myself!" 

Miz Cracker's hand reflexively shot up to the offending spot in a futile attempt to cover it, her treacherous turtleneck had a habit of not staying up as high as it should. Sitting behind them, Aquaria went red in the face—not that anyone noticed it. 

"Well?! What—or should I say _who_ —were you doing?" 

"A lady never tells."

"I love you— you know that—but facts are facts, we all know you're no lady, you're a W.H.O.R.E. Come on, Cracks, spill!"

Cracker lifted one brow, a barely-there smile playing on her lips, but stayed mum. 

"Oh my god—is it someone in this room?!" Monet was working herself up. 

"Yeah, _definitely_ —Eureka and I made love under a pale moonlight." 

Monet deadpanned; Aquaria nearly choked on her Red Bull, causing Cracker to look up at her. The younger queen still couldn't read her face. 

"Okay, it was someone from the filming crew, but I'm not saying who. Look, there's really not much to tell. It was sex. It was good. It did what it was supposed to do. That's it. I'm not exactly bringing him home to meet my parents, you know." 

Aquaria got the sudden urge to slap Cracker across the face, hard. 

*****

Later that day, while they were getting ready for the runway, Aquaria felt out of it, and it reflected in her work. What made it worse was that Cracker wasn't even really ignoring her, she had exchanged a few words with the other queen, but nothing about the—as she now considered it, fatal—Friday night. So they just wouldn't address it. Fine by her. 

Monet went home, and Aquaria's sullen mood almost translated into her having to lipsync for her life. This was not acceptable—she needed to snap out of it, fast. Nevertheless Aquaria couldn't help seeing the irony in the way things had turned out. She had thought sex would be a good outlet for the tension and frustration that permeated the atmosphere in the workroom, but she had, quite literally, screwed herself. Meanwhile Miz Cracker was floating on cloud nine. 

After they came back from the runway and changed out of drag, Aquaria wanted nothing but to get back to the hotel and forget the whole day had happened. The cameras had stopped rolling and everyone was getting ready to leave when Miz Cracker, nonchalant as ever, pulled her to the side.

"I think this is yours." 

Aquaria's belt. She had completely forgotten she had had it on that evening. 

"Thanks..." She took the missing garment, apprehensive about what, if anything, to say next. This was not a good time for a talk, maybe that's why Cracker had picked it to approach her. As the older queen turned to exit the workroom, Aquaria's hand instinctively shot up to her arm. She had to say something, but she didn't know what that something was. 

"Cracker—" Her voice sounded too soft for her own liking, curse it. 

The other queen looked at her, somewhat patronisingly Aquaria thought, and chuckled. "Aquaria, you don't have to say anything—it's really not a big deal. We're adults, I'm sure we've both had _plenty_ of one-night stands, ok? I mean, Jesus—I've even slept with Monet." 

Aquaria should've expected it. She should've, but she didn't. She didn't have a reply either—she was trying too hard to make sure her face didn't give away what was going through her mind and her heart. 

All she could come up with was a lame "Okay." 

*****

Giovanni wasn't the smartest person in the world—he knew that—but he had never thought of himself as stupid. Stupid, however, was exactly how he felt right now. As soon as he had closed the door to his hotel room, his confident facade disappeared. Unexpectedly, he found himself slumped against the door crying his eyes out and unable to explain why.

Ten minutes later he was still in tears, but the flood had subsided. There wasn't a single coherent, understandable thought in his head. His hand brushed the front of his pants, first as if by accident, then again, and again. Giovanni unzipped his jeans and let it wrap around his cock. He could tell he was already getting hard. He closed his eyes and started stroking himself, thinking of nothing in particular. His movements soon got faster, almost frantic; out of his own volition, images of Max—his body, his voice, the way he kissed and the way he had fucked him—filled his mind. He came hard and fast, tears still in his eyes.

Yes, Giovanni felt stupid. Stupid and pathetic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback fuels me and I LOVE hearing what yall think.


	6. Strangelove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cracker's pov. Sort of a stream of consciousness without dialogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know where this came from tbh. I had a completely different chapter planned, but I knew I wanted to write things from Cracker's perspective after watching the reunion episode, so I thought I would put something down for later, but it just escalated from there and I realised this was actually a better chapter 7 than the other thing. I hope you like it. 
> 
> I also have a pretty extensive playlist for this fic. I don't know if you've noticed it, but every chapter is titled after a song.  
> So far: 1. The Rolling Stones - Under My Thumb / 2. Tina Turner - Private Dancer / 3. The Platters - Smoke Gets In Your Eyes / 4. The Rolling Stones - Play With Fire / 5. New Order - Shellshock / 6. Depeche Mode - Strangelove
> 
> There are a lot of other songs in it, but idk if anyone is interested?

Max hated Aquaria. It was an ugly feeling, but, then again, he already knew that he was an ugly person.

He hated Aquaria who had everything, _everything_ —Aquaria who had never experienced a serious hardship in her life, whose family was loving and supportive and perfect—Aquaria who, at 22, had more willpower, confidence, and success than he'd had in his life—Aquaria who could do anything she set her mind to, be it dancing, makeup, comedy—Aquaria who had been such a wonderful friend, until she wasn't—Aquaria who had sent him silly messages, saying how much she missed him and couldn't wait to see him time and time and time again—and who had cut him out of her life without so much as an explanation—Aquaria who had then gone around New York clubs, saying he was a nobody—and who had repeated that same truth on national television.

Aquaria had almost everything, but Max wouldn't let her have him, not again. When Aquaria tried to get back into his good graces after The Vixen had exposed what she had said about him in the first untucked, her apologies rang hollow to his ears. There was no reason for her to be sincere. After all, she hadn't shown she cared about their friendship before the show. He hated to admit it, but if she had, he would have ran back into her open arms without looking back.

No, Aquaria didn't care about their friendship—what she did care about was her reputation and the way she would be received by drag race fans once the season premiered. Because if there was one thing Max knew about her, it was that she craved love and admiration. She wasn't stupid, she knew she wouldn't get either of them if people thought she was a bitch, so she had to play nice with him.

And the nicer she tried to be, the more his hatred grew. It would've been perfectly fine if she had just been civil, as they had agreed to be—but in front of the cameras Aquaria was once again trying to be his friend. She was fucking with his emotions. He saw her efforts— like the way she chose to sit next to him and, in her awkward way, tried to make conversation, the way she brought him morning coffee or offered him some stupid pair of earrings—and he spoiled them in one way or another. And he saw her face fall every time he did it—every time he made a joke at her expense, every time he ignored her—and he loved it. She deserved it.

Max hated Aquaria because she didn't need drag to be beautiful, because her every feature looked like it was carved by the Greek gods anyway—Max hated Aquaria because, more than ever, she made him disgusted with himself. Suddenly he felt lust when he looked at her, and he still remembered meeting her three years ago as a pimple-faced kid. And he hated Aquaria because she noticed the way his eyes wandered and mocked him for it. 

And after she followed him to his hotel room he had another reason to hate her. Aquaria made him give in. He didn't know why she did it, whether it was because she was truly desperate or because she wanted to have that power over him, but she won. There was never any question of him saying no to her—when she straddled his hips and stared into him with those dark eyes Max felt like he was a mere mortal in the presence of a god. He couldn't even fuck her, it felt blasphemous—he had to make love to her.

In the morning, when he woke up and found her still there, he wanted to hate her even more. But looking at the naked body laying wantonly next to him, he thought it would feel so much better to wrap Aquaria in his arms, kiss the nape of her neck, and do it all over again. Max couldn't stay there, he couldn't look at her—he didn't want to see the self-satisfaction on Aquaria's face when she woke up. He would've saved himself a lot of trouble if he had just fucked her. 

When he saw her again on Monday, he was surprised. He'd thought she would surely tease him about that night, about the way he had treated her, about how easy it had been for her to get him into bed, about how he clearly still cared, but Aquaria wasn't doing any of that. The smile she flashed him in the morning made him breathe again, it seemed genuine—she wasn't set on messing with him. She almost looked kind of timid. But no, he must've been imagining that. This was Aquaria, queen of club kids, the same person who had performed in nothing but a jockstrap, dripping hot wax on her body, whose looks often left so little to the imagination, who was a regular at some of the hottest parties in New York. What could Aquaria be timid about?

Once he realised that Aquaria wasn't going to be a bitch about what had happened between them, his day went swimmingly. He could treat it as a regular one-night stand then, which is exactly what it was. And Max knew a thing or two about one-night stands and casual sex. It was no secret he hated himself—especially his appearance. Sex was the one thing that made him feel good, that made him feel wanted, and consequently he'd had lots of it—it was hard for him to say no to anyone. He was not the type to consider sex in and of itself as something special, even if it was with someone he knew, like Bob or Monet. Now Aquaria would be added to that list of people. So what? She didn't care. Neither did he. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super lame, so I thought that yall would like to know that your feedback literally makes my day.


	7. Domino Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aquaria feels ignored and lashes out (Aquaria's pov).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in chapter titles so far: 1. The Rolling Stones - Under My Thumb / 2. Tina Turner - Private Dancer / 3. The Platters - Smoke Gets In Your Eyes / 4. The Rolling Stones - Play With Fire / 5. New Order - Shellshock / 6. Depeche Mode - Strangelove / **7\. Pet Shop Boys - Domino Dancing**
> 
> Did I finish this chapter or did this chapter finish me? I don't know how I feel about it, but I hope it's not trash.

Miz Cracker went home soon afterwards. Part of him was sad—because she deserved a spot in the top four and because he knew he missed her—no, his—presence in the workroom as soon as Kameron had wiped off that goodbye message.

But another part of him was relieved. Ever since the first day on set Giovanni had felt on edge around the other man and after they'd had sex that anxiety had increased tenfold. Although Max didn't know it, he had seen him at his most vulnerable. That particular sense of vulnerability had taken Giovanni himself by surprise and he wanted it gone. 

And then the competition was over. They all went back to their lives, and any hope he had previously harboured about things between them going back to the way they had been a few years ago disappeared soon enough.

It wasn't even because they didn't have another conversation about that night. What would they say anyway? Maybe it was for the best, Giovanni wasn't good with words, he could only hurt himself in the long run by saying something he didn't mean. They didn't need it.

And anyway at first it had looked promising—they had gone to parties together, FaceTimed each other, exchanged stupid texts—but as soon as the first few episodes aired it was back to ground zero.

Giovanni was over it. He had done everything in his power to say, and to prove, that he was sorry; he knew that what he had done was wrong—he knew that— but there was nothing he could do anymore, Max was immovable. Maybe he just didn't want to be moved. Maybe he was over it too.

It certainly seemed that way whenever they ended up in the same club. Not only did Max have almost nothing to say to him, he was in the arms of a different man every time. Of course, Giovanni didn't care about that. It just hurt that he didn't consider their friendship more valuable than some one-night stand. 

He had no reason to be upset. Max had promised him nothing except civility, and he had been civil. It wasn't his fault that Gio—and he hated to admit it, even to himself—had grown somewhat attached to him.

Yetthat wasn't quite true either, Giovanni knew it was more of an obsession than an attachment. 'Obsession' was such an ugly word though. After all, he hadn't suddenly turned into Kathy Bates and his life wasn't _Misery_ —at least not the film, he mused bitterly. But what else could you call thinking about someone you weren't even close with anymore every day? Social media wasn't helping either. It was like there was no escape from him anywhere, except in reality.

And his obsession led him to do things that he would have never done otherwise. For instance, he finally gave in and downloaded grindr. Maybe the reason he felt and acted the way he did, the reason scenes from that night still seemed embedded in his memory, was because he was inexperienced. Maybe it was a sex thing and he just needed to have more of it—with someone new. Surely Miz fucking Cracker could be outdone, especially by a 6'2 Calvin Klein model or two, or three, or four. 

It went well every time—until it came to actually doing the deed. Giovanni always chickened out at the last minute. Then it developed into a not so pretty scene. It became awkward and embarrassing, it made him feel like a freak. Most of the men just left then and there, and the ones that didn't—well, he wished that they had. At that point it was easy to guilt-trip him into doing other things that he was no longer eager to do either. But he didn't want to be seen as a prude, so he put up with it. It felt cheap—he felt cheap.

After a few times he stopped claiming to be a bottom, which he wasn't anyway, and after a few more underwhelming experiences he deleted the application altogether. But something that one of his failed hookups had screamed at him before storming out of his flat stayed with him:  _What the hell is wrong with you?_   The question played in his head on a seemingly neverending loop. 

He also picked up smoking. When Sharon found out she almost couldn't believe it. Hadn't he given her a lecture on why she should quit not 6 months ago? Hadn't he repeated over and over again how much he hated smoking? Gio just shrugged in response, it's not like he had formed a habit. Curious, she asked him why he had even started it, but he just smiled mysteriously in response. "Fucking baby Mona Lisa over here," she snorted and changed the subject, not noticing the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Even more surprisingly, he started reading. He hadn't read one of those serious you-have-to-read-this-otherwise-you're-an-idiot novels since high school and at first he struggled to concentrate on the text, but as he read more and more it grew on him. In fact, it got easier than not reading. It turned out that the cliché was indeed true— immersed in fiction you forget about your own problems. And though he didn't know why sometimes a line or two stayed with him.  _He in madness prays for storms, and dreams that storms will bring him peace._

Deep down he knew the whole endeavour was silly. He was fooling himself. His sudden interest in literature was no coincidence, he hadn't just woken up one morning thinking that he should familiarise himself with the great literary canon. Giovanni wasn't reading to forget about Max—that was more of a happy accident—, he was reading to impress him, to show him that he wasn't just some stupid twink—because that's what the other man thought of him, he'd made that pretty clear.

Why would someone as smart as Max even want to be friends with him? Gio couldn't blame him if, proverbially speaking, he had just wanted to fuck him and chuck him. (And the fact that that was the expression that first came to his mind only further proved that Max was right. He cringed, _'Fuck him and chuck him'—Shakespeare? Found dead in a ditch. Wig? Snatched._ )

*****

A couple of weeks before the final episodes were to be filmed Gio found himself in New York and, for a change, he was wide awake at 10 am with nothing to do. It was sunny outside and he was feeling good, so he threw on a striped long-sleeved shirt and some black jeans, picked out a book from the small collection he had accumulated and headed out to a local coffee shop.

Checking out his reflection in a shop window, he had to admit his new habit had added benefits, such as the aesthetic that came with it. If he was to be reading in public, he made sure to look the very part of a French intellectual, or, at least, what he imagined one to look like. Sure, it was posturing, but it was fun—and he didn't wear a fucking beret, so it wasn't that pretentious, really, he told himself. Turning looks and reading books? Stunning. The full package.

The cafe was only a five minute walk from his flat. He took his black coffee and croissant to one of the tables outside, opened his book, and lit a cigarette with a little more flourish than usual. Now—Proust. 

"...Aquaria?"

He lifted his eyes from his copy of _Swann's Way_  to find Monet, who had stopped dead in her tracks on the sidewalk, staring at him in disbelief. Inexplicably his first reaction was one of embarrassment.

"Um, hi!" He stubbed out his cigarette and got up to give his friend a hug.

"Girl, what are you doing here?! Am I interrupting something—are you on a date?" 

Gio chuckled. "No, it's fine, I was just reading."

Monet lifted an eyebrow, smiling.

"What? I _can_ read, you know."

"Who are you and what have you done to Aquaria?"

Gio brushed her off. "Sit down, you can have some of my croissant or something! Tell me what's going on with you, the tea, all of it."

They had grown close during the filming and even closer afterwards—not a single day passed when they didn't at least exchange a silly message or two. Monet was very easy to talk to and very easy to listen to—there was only one thing that made Gio somewhat apprehensive. She was also best friends with Miz Cracker.

He was pretty sure Cracker hadn't told Monet about them or he would've heard something about it, but he knew that he had to be very careful when talking about their mutual acquaintance. The problem was that Monet talked about Cracker a lot—certainly more than anyone else he knew—and Gio was very tempted to follow her example and let the obsession that was bubbling under his calm facade come out, especially now that Cracker had completely gone back to ignoring his very existence. 

They had been chatting for the better part of an hour when thoughts of the dreaded third person rudely assaulted his mind. He averted his eyes from Monet's and stirred his now cold coffee, cogs clearly turning in his head. 

Monet placed her hand on his. "Aqua, are you okay? You seem—slightly out of it."

Giovanni sighed. "I would appreciate your opinion on something."

"Shoot."

"I slept with a friend of mine. Do you think that's like—weird?"

Monet let out a hearty cackle. It died down as quickly as it had started when she saw the dejected look on his face. "Oh, sweetheart"

"I'm serious. Have you ever—you know?" He already knew the answer to that. Which is precisely why he was interested.

"Um, yes? Hasn't the entire gay world?" The tone of her voice made it seem like the most self-evident thing in the world. _Was it?_ Giovanni wondered, taking a sip of his coffee.

A pause. Monet continued, "But it never got weird—whatever that means."

"That means he's been ignoring me."

"Did something happen—" She leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper like something scandalous was about to be spilled, and mouthed " _was it bad?_ " 

Gio snorted. "No, not at all, I think? It was kinda fucking amazing." 

Another moment of silence. Giovanni continued, trying to guide her onto the right tracks. "So you're saying you've never been given silent treatment by a friend you've had sex with?

"No! I mean, okay, listen—you want to hear some real tea? I've hooked up with Cracks before. And look at us now—two peas in a goddamn pod."

Giovanni swallowed the lump forming in his throat and tried his best to look surprised. "Really? And there was never any awkwardness or whatnot?"

"No. But maybe your friend isn't a hoe like us..."

He could tell Monet wanted to say something more, but held herself back. "Come on, tell me. What?"

"Well—were you actually close? 'Cause some of these boys... Never mind, he's probably just feeling shy or awkward." Monet squeezed his shoulder, smiling reassuringly if not pityingly.  

But the seed of doubt had already been planted. Monet confirmed what he had already been thinking. Max just didn't give a shit. Gio felt like a fool for trying to be his friend, for trying to change himself so that Max would like him, for thinking about him in the first place. Anger built up in the pit of his stomach. 

Monet left him on his own after a while. He tried to go back to reading, but his concentration was gone. What the fuck was he reading for? _Remembrance of Things Past._ The title itself seemed to mock him. Seeing red, he threw Proust in the trash on his way out. There was a party that evening Giovanni had to prepare for. 

*****

His sour mood refused to go away. At the party he met a few other drag queens—no one he was very close to, but some that he would call friendly acquaintances. That suited him. He drank more that he would normally and chatted the night away until someone inevitably brought up his past drama with Miz Cracker. Lovely, he needed that—he needed a reason to let out all his frustration. It was hardly the first time someone had asked him about it, but all of his previous answers had been in the same vein—he was sorry, he didn't mean it, Cracker was a great queen, they were friends, etcetera. There were no cameras around this time, however, only five other queens.

"Look, Cracker's a total drama queen. And okay, whatever, I apologised for talking about it on TV, but facts are facts—are y'all really gonna tell me her looks aren't derivative? And she's getting mad at me—and Asia—for saying the truth? I'm kinda over it." 

Some of the queens gasped, others chuckled. He kept going. "Exactly. And did she do well on drag race? Like—her comedy? If you call yourself a comedy queen, you should probably be funny, I'm just sayin'." He laughed, finding cruelty strangely comforting.

*****

Giovanni knew the word would get out. That was the point. He wanted to hurt the object of his obsession, which was apparently the only thing he could do. He had embarrassed himself enough, he had apologised enough. Cracker had once said in the untucked lounge that he wasn't stupid, that he knew exactly where the scab was and where to put the salt, and it was true. 

Some days went by, he still hadn't received an angry message from Max. Radio silence. Then came a string of promotional events that they both had to be at and the reunion. When they met Giovanni knew, there was no doubt in his mind that his ex-friend had heard exactly what he had said.

If looks could kill. A rush of adrenaline surged through his body, his heart was racing in some misguided excitement and his mouth went dry. _What are you gonna do to me now, Max?_

The reunion was as awkward as he had expected, but at least the other man was suddenly finding it hard to hide his feelings which was unusual for him. Did anyone else notice it? He didn't think so, Gio was just paying close attention. He should've been glad—his plan had been successful, Max was hurt and angry, but his victory came with a bitter aftertaste. Yet for some reason there was still no confrontation. 

*****

Then the finale episode came out, and it was the happiest day of his life, the pinnacle of everything he had worked for and dreamed of. Hugs, tears of joy, everything—it was like he was having the best high.

And then he came down, hard. He saw the video. This wasn't just hurt anymore—he saw that Max hated him. The tweet did nothing to change his impression of that, he never received a private message, no "Congratulations, I'm happy for you", no "I'm sorry". He knew he didn't deserve it anyway. If he hadn't opened his mouth, this would not have happened. 

To make matters worse, they had to perform at the same venue in New York later that week. 

It went as smoothly as it could've gone. At least they barely had to interact. After the show was over the queens were back in the changing room, getting ready to leave. Aquaria and Miz Cracker were the last to perform and they found themselves falling behind the rest.

The others said their goodbyes and suddenly they were on their own. You could cut the tension with a knife. Aquaria slipped on her shirt and was once again Giovanni.

He sneaked a look at the other man and bit the inside of his cheek, anxious. Max, oblivious as ever to Giovanni's mood, was packing away Miz Cracker's hair and makeup. Gio wanted to do something stupid—he knew it was a terrible idea, but he couldn't help himself. 

"What are you doing after this?" 

Max, still shoving things into his bags at a rapid pace, didn't catch the drift.  "I'm starving. I'm already dreaming about that pizza place on 7th Avenue."

At least he was talking to him. 

One more chance to back out. He should've taken it, and run, fast. But he didn't. Instead he mustered up his confidence, walked over to the other man and propped himself against a table.

Max looked up, staring daggers, Giovanni was aware he was invading his personal space, there wasn't more than a foot between them. He matched his gaze.

Voice dropping an octave, "Wanna share?"

Giovanni could see the moment when what he was saying clicked in Max's mind.

He looked down, in fake innocence, tracing his fingers absentmindedly over the edge of the table. "I didn't see Katelyn tonight—"

"She's at her mom's." 

Giovanni was barely holding back a smirk.  "What a pity." 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback keeps me going, so please talk to me?


	8. My Favourite Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go back to Cracker's flat because sex is definitely how you should solve your problems, right?  
> (Just a whole lot of smut and angst, with some Jokes™ thrown into the mix.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is VERY explicit (and also very fictional, if that even needs to be stated), so read at your own discretion. 
> 
> tw homophobia
> 
> Songs in chapter titles so far: 1. The Rolling Stones - Under My Thumb / 2. Tina Turner - Private Dancer / 3. The Platters - Smoke Gets In Your Eyes / 4. The Rolling Stones - Play With Fire / 5. New Order - Shellshock / 6. Depeche Mode - Strangelove / 7. Pet Shop Boys - Domino Dancing / 8. The Cardigans - My Favourite Game

The cab ride was pure torture. When Giovanni followed Max to his hotel room almost a year ago, it had been under the pretence of borrowing a sewing machine. Now there was no pretence—he'd made sure of that. To make matters worse, he felt very, very sober. Not that he was, of course. It was just that he didn't even have to look at the other man to know that he hated his guts even as they were cramped together in the backseat of a car going to his place to have sex. He fumbled with his fingers; the silence was deafening, he prayed the cab driver would at least turn on the radio.

No such luck, but he must've at least picked up on the tension. "So...you guys travelling or something? That's a lot of bags you got there."

Giovanni almost physically lept at the opportunity to have a lighthearted chat. "Oh no, it's just stuff for work!"

The man next to him let out a barely audible groan. Gio's eyes darted to his face confusedly, catching the remnants of an eye-roll.

"Oh yeah? What do you two do for a living?" 

"We're drag queens." Max stepped on his foot before he had even finished the sentence. He didn't have to wonder for long why. 

"You're faggots?" 

Max smiled tightly and leaned forward, the tone of his voice sugary-sweet, "Yes. Yes, we are." 

The car pulled to the side of the street and came to a halt. "You need to get out."

Giovanni felt like a deer caught in the headlights. Could the seat of the car just swallow him whole? That would be nice. "But—"

"Look, do whatever you want, but I'm a Christian. I can't support that shit. So get out of my car, please."

Earlier timidity evaporating into thin air, he felt his blood pressure rise at an alarming rate. "Excuse me?! Who the fuck do you think—"

Max opened the doors of the car and pulled his arm; he obliged unwillingly and got out, hardly calming down. So before their runaway cabbie had driven off, he decided the appropriate response to Christian assholery should be a "Fuck you" loud enough to wake up the entire street—but no, that wasn't good enough. Thinking on the spot, he grabbed Max by his nice button-up shirt and pulled him into a hard kiss for added effect. A little something for the asshole to see. 

If anything, this further confirmed his suspicion that his mind should be cancelled. Giovanni immediately felt the other man tense up, Max wasn't kissing him back. Feeling awkward, he quickly let go. The car sped off, leaving them in the middle of nowhere, at the scene of his moronic crime, at what must've been by now at least 2 am.

Max picked up his stuff from the sidewalk, not looking at him. "We're pretty close-by. Let's just walk."

*****

New York wasn't supposed to be this quiet, not even at night, Gio thought. It had probably been only a few minutes since they got thrown out of the cab, but the silence made it feel like an eternity. Max was walking fast. Giovanni could barely keep up, trailing after him like an obedient animal. What if he were to just stop? Would Max even care?

He tried to lighten the mood. "The show tonight was really good, don't you think? They were living for us!" 

Max didn't even turn to look at him. The silence deepened. Giovanni felt like crawling under a rock. All he wanted to hear was just one word—anything, _anything_. They were passing a small, dark alley. He kept going, "I wish Monet had been with us—"

Suddenly Max grabbed his arm, pulling him into the passage, and pushed him against a brick wall like he weighed no more than a paper doll. The sudden movement made his breath hitch, he couldn't remember what the fuck he had been saying. The only thing on his mind was, stupidly, that this was the most exciting thing that's happened to him, ever.

Max snarled. “Shut up.”

Giovanni made a poor attempt at leaning forward, trying to catch his lips. The other man pushed him back and held him in place, almost effortlessly. He really had to stop saying that the only verse thing about him was Versace if Max was to keep doing stuff like that. Gio knew that he must've looked pathetically eager, but thankfully the other man could gloat and move his hands down his body at the same time, pulling them together, grinding against him.

The heat from his body sent shivers down his spine. At times like these he rued the invention of clothing. He wanted to melt into him, to devour him and to be devoured. This was infinitely worse, and better, than the first time. Then he had just wanted to have some fun. But that one cursed experience had come back to haunt him over and over again. Was it really that surprising? After all, Giovanni had impeccable taste. Nothing but the best would satisfy him. Now he was like a dying man in a desert who had finally been offered water. 

He felt a hand move up to his neck and close around it firmly, just short of a chokehold. Max used his grip to turn his head to the side, pressing his mouth against his throat, grazing the skin there with his teeth, flicking his tongue against the protruding bone of his jawline. Giovanni's legs trembled, almost giving out. Max steadied him, smirking into his neck. A stifled moan escaped his lips, his fingers got lost in tufts of soft brown hair, tugging needily. 

The hand that had been pressing them together moved to the front of his pants, palming his cock. He knew that he was already hard and blushed. Max let out a laugh, mocking him mercilessly, his warm breath on Gio's neck sending him even further down the abyss. He was such a fucking mess, he thought, a desperate whine escaping his lips. 

Surprisingly fast for the state he was in, Giovanni unzipped the other man's jeans and pulled down his underwear, reaching to touch him. Max batted away his hand and pushed him down. His knees hit the cold asphalt. Giovanni swallowed hard; this was really happening. 

Just as he was about to take the other man's cock in his mouth, a sound coming from further down the alley startled him. Max darted his eyes to its source. Someone must've been working late, there seemed to be a few people chatting, smoking, no more than some twenty feet away. They didn't seem to be going anywhere.

Max looked down at him, a sinister glint in his eye, his hand playfully roaming through Giovanni's black locks, curling a strand of hair around his finger, then moving down to his face, lightly brushing his cheekbone, tracing over his parted lips with his thumb. He wished that he could control himself, but he knew he was looking at Max like he was staring into the face of God.

The hand pulled him closer, a smirk forming on his face. He obediently glided his tongue along the length of his erection. Max took himself in his hand, swiping his cock against his cheek, teasing, slapping him lightly, and thrust into the warm wetness of his mouth.

“Does Jonathan have the early shift tomorrow? Linda told me there was a new shipment coming in and someone needs to be here to sign for it.”

“Yeah, I think I'll be in, so it shouldn't be a problem.”

As Max was fucking his mouth Giovanni could pick up bits and pieces of the conversation down the street but nothing made any sense, his mind was swimming. He hadn't even really touched himself and yet he was afraid he might come at any moment. He felt like a fucking schoolboy, it was embarrassing. 

He heard a door open and close, the people were gone. Max pushed him away from his crotch, causing him to lose balance and fall back on his hands. He zipped himself up. "Let's finish this indoors."

Giovanni wiped away spit from his chin and got up, his legs shaky, too weak to object to anything.

.*****

The walk to the flat was a blur, but thankfully it somewhat calmed down his arousal. He didn't want to give Max the satisfaction of seeing him come in his pants. 

As soon as the doors were unlocked and they were inside, Giovanni pulled the other man to him, needy with anticipation, wanting to kiss him. Max turned his head to the side. Gio's mouth awkwardly landed on his cheek instead. "Oh no—we're not gonna kiss, angel."

Max slid out of his grasp and walked over to the kitchen. Giovanni didn't move from the spot, a little taken aback and confused by what had just happened. He watched him open a cupboard and take out a bottle of whiskey. Gio wasn't sure if he imagined it, but his furious confidence seemed to falter for just a second, giving way to something more akin to sadness. Whatever the emotion had been, it was gone as soon as it had appeared. Messily chugging the whiskey, spilling some on his clothes, Max strutted back to his side. He offered the bottle to Gio who took it without a word and brought it to his lips.

"I hope you're not under the impression this is gonna be like the last time." His voice could cut glass. Giovanni felt heat pool at the base of his stomach.

He continued, "After all, as you've been saying around town—I _am_ a piece of shit."

"That's not—I didn't—" 

"You did. But it's okay. I might be a piece of shit, but you're still crawling back for seconds, so what does that say about you?" He took the bottle from his hands, threw it onto the couch, and walked off in the direction of his room.

Almost as an afterthought: "Bedroom. And take off your clothes." Giovanni didn't have to be told twice, he had been waiting for this for almost a year. 

*****

The room would've been dark had it not been for the many-coloured lights that peeked in through the window next to Max's bed, throwing harsh shadows all around. Giovanni tossed his clothes on the floor, the silence again so prominent they seemed to land with an almost harsh thud. Max turned around, unbuttoning his shirt, and looked at him, eyes falling on his crotch. "All of them."

He thumbed the edge of his briefs, stupidly shy. Giovanni had performed in clubs almost stark naked, but he had never felt this exposed before. Which was silly, of course. Max had seen him naked. They had done this before. 

Max discarded his shirt and walked towards him, unzipping his jeans. "Or do you need me to do it for you, princess?" 

Giovanni seemed to have forgotten how to speak. Max looked at him with piercing eyes and placed one hand on his chest, softly pushing him backwards, making him land on the bed. He removed his pants and climbed on top of him, straddling his thighs. Giovanni was still frozen, still timid, and staring at the other man with wide doe eyes and a parted mouth. Max snorted, mocking him. "I mean, if you want to leave—"

That pulled him out of his previous state, the implication of what he had said scaring him. He needed this so badly, Max wouldn't dare to stop this, would he? "No no no— _please_ —" His hand latched onto one of Max's wrists, begging. 

Max pulled down his underwear and thumbed his erection. His cock twitched at the contact; Giovanni groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. And then a wet heat engulfed him and he suddenly had to make a conscious effort to breathe. His hips shot upwards once, twice—then it was gone. Gio looked down, pleading, Max just smirked, leaving sloppy kisses moving up his thighs, but not touching the source of all of his frustration anymore. He was cruel. 

Gio heard his own voice before he registered that he was speaking, more of a whisper than anything, "God, you're so fucking beautiful like this, Max—"

"Shut up." He moved up from his thighs, sounding angry although Gio couldn't decipher why, and leant over him, making him feel even weaker than he had already been. His hand grasped Giovanni's arm, twisting it. "Turn around."

He did. He heard a drawer open and close somewhere next to his head, then a wrapper being ripped, then a lid opened. A sticky liquid dripped between his thighs, down his shaft, probably messing up the bed too. He bit his cheek, smirking into the bedsheets, regaining bits of his confidence. "I wish that was your come." 

Max groaned. Close to his ear, a deceivingly sweet voice, laced with danger, "No, you don't, angel."

Gio's smirk grew. It was time to make the other man suffer for a change. "Mhmm—if you weren't wearing that condom, you could come in me." 

"You would be very stupid to let anyone do that, now wouldn't you?" Giovanni bit his lip, lost in the makings of his own imagination.

A lick down his spine, "Besides, you're in no position to fuck with me."

He whimpered, his jaw clenched, his hands clutching the pillows strewn around them, white-knuckled—he felt Max push his cock into him, slowly but steadily. His body jerked, unused to the sensation.

And then it stopped, Max pressed a gentle kiss to his shoulder blade. Quietly and apologetically, "I'm sorry, was that too quick? Do you want me to stop?"

Gio felt his chest rise and fall, a strange, almost physical feeling of warmth spread around his heart, unlike the heat further south. Max didn't hate him that much, he didn't want to hurt him. Although he deserved to be hurt. "No—please, _please_ don't stop—just...touch me."

He felt the other man move, gripping his ass with one hand and wrapping the other around his cock, stroking him slowly, tantalizing. "Ask me nicely." 

A jumble of nonsense spilled from his mouth, slightly muffled by the pillow his head was buried in. "Please, fuck me, Max, I'll—be so good, I promise, I'll do whatever you want, anything, I swear, please—"

The hand on his ass disappeared and came back down, spanking him hard enough to leave a mark. He moaned, pushing backwards. Max buried himself deeper into him and began to move, soon picking up a fast rhythm—the sound of skin slapping against skin providing sweetly obscene background music—all of it leaving him a trembling mess.

Max briefly stopped stroking his cock, moving his hand to grip the back of his neck, his movements becoming more hectic. Giovanni could tell he was close; the thought of him being the cause of it was intoxicating. He clenched around him, tentatively—a guttural sound escaped Max's lips and he went over the edge. God, he wished he could see his face.

He pulled out and fell onto the pillows next to him, breathing still heavy, a light sheen of sweat covering his face and body, and haphazardly brushed through his hair with one hand. Giovanni rolled over to his side, admiring the sight, and pressed his erection into the other man's side with a needy whine. 

Max looked at him, most of the earlier anger and tension gone. _Most._ He smirked, "You don't deserve to come, you know."

Gio pouted, moving to straddle his thighs. He took Max's hand in his own, fingers briefly intertwining—(Max looked at their hands, swallowing hard)—and guided it to his cock. It didn't take much; suddenly his toes curled and then spurts of white decorated the other man's chest.

Giovanni collapsed on top of him, spent, only lifting his head for one thing—the one thing he had been denied. Max looked away from his puppy eyes. Gio brought one hand to his cheek, turning his face to him, leaning in, softly pressing their lips together and withdrawing again after gaining no response. 

"Tell me, Giovanni, why do you want to kiss me when you clearly think I'm the dirt beneath your feet?"

"I don't, Max—"

"Oh, stop. My stupid reaction to your win wasn't the only video that has recently surfaced. But lucky for you your little moment wasn't released to the public."

He felt tears prick at his eyes. Wasn't this exactly what he had wanted? The word to reach Max? "I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry, Max. I didn't mean a word of it, I only said that because I was upset and angry—and because I knew it would get to you."

The body beneath him tensed up. "Why the fuck would you do that?"

Giovanni looked down, a strange look on his face. "You weren't speaking to me and I thought after the filming ended—I thought we would be friends again. And then I realized you didn't want my friendship."

Max stared at him in quiet disbelief. "I didn't think you gave a shit—I thought it was only for show and I didn't want that."

"Well, I do—give a shit, that is." Their eyes met, Gio hoped he could tell he was being sincere.

A moment of silence, Max was killing him. And then he grinned, "In that case, I guess we can be friends. And you can kiss me."

Giovanni smiled and leaned in again, lashes fluttering shut. The other man lifted his hand to his face, steadying him, and opened his mouth, an invitation that he eagerly took up. He sighed contentedly against his lips.

"And, look, you can even sleep here tonight! Because what are friends for?"

Gio snorted. "God, you're so stupid."

Max pulled a blanket over them. "Stop bullying me and go to sleep."

*****

But sleep he could not. He turned to his side to look at the clock on Max's nightstand. 5 am. His friend was far into dreamland, the blue light from outside hitting his body at such an angle it created a veritable masterpiece. Actually, it was better than art. Giovanni had never seen him sleep, he looked so peaceful, so beautiful.

He got up without making too much noise and tip-toed to the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, putting on his briefs and reaching into the pocket of his jacket to take out his cigarettes. Quietly, he opened the window and sat down on the fire escape. He flicked the lighter and let the smoke fill his lungs. Fuck. _Fuck._ He was screwed. He hadn't realized that until Max asked him why he had been so awful to him. All the stupid shit he had done came back to him, all at once. He had been lying to himself. He could no longer pretend it was just about friendship. He was fucking in love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes me so happy! Talk to me! Yell at me! Either way, I don't mind.
> 
> (Also, I'm sorry this took so long, I thought I would finish this chapter way more quickly, but I went through like four (4) depressive episodes, so...yeah)


	9. Plaything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am slightly obsessed with the song I used for this chapter, so do give it a listen. It's basically Aquaria's pov for this entire thing.
> 
>  
> 
> Songs in chapter titles so far: 1. The Rolling Stones - Under My Thumb / 2. Tina Turner - Private Dancer / 3. The Platters - Smoke Gets In Your Eyes / 4. The Rolling Stones - Play With Fire / 5. New Order - Shellshock / 6. Depeche Mode - Strangelove / 7. Pet Shop Boys - Domino Dancing / 8. The Cardigans - My Favourite Game / 9. Róisín Murphy - Plaything

Life was stranger than fiction—stranger, yes, but also more cruel, surely. If there was a higher being, a God or what not, that someone somewhere hated him, Giovanni mused while lying in bed next to the man he was in love with and Bob the fucking Drag Queen, all there in his naked glory. 

_This is so sad Alexa play Mr Brightside._

*****

_2 weeks ago._

Giovanni was startled out of his nap by a loud buzz at the door. He closed his laptop without pausing the movie he had been watching when he dozed off and glanced at his phone. The sudden light made him wince. He rubbed his eyes, it was well past 2 am. The latest message from Max filled the screen:  _ **"Ok, I'll be there in 30 minutes ;)"**_

Gio sighed. Oh, the things he would put up with for him. He dashed to the door, trying his best to look like he hadn't just woken up and taming strands of unruly hair on the way. He opened the door.

Max pushed past him into the apartment, his voice mischievous and too lively for the late hour. "Do you wanna know what I want?"

_I already know what you want. And it's not to hold hands._

He indulged him. "What do you want, Max?"

Max flopped down on the couch and turned to look at him, resting his face on his hand. "I want you to tell me what you're into—what would you like me to do to you, in bed?"

Although he was hovering over the other man, he suddenly felt very small. "I...I don't know? You've been doing great"

"Please tell me? I know there has to be something." Two soft hazel eyes stared into him, imploring. He couldn't say no.

"I like it when you, um...treat me mean." A red hue crept up his neck and threatened to spread over his face.

Max laughed, "Can you be a little more specific?"

"Like choking, pinning me down while you, you know, dirty talk..."

"Anything that we haven't done?"

"You could...slap my face and spit on me—I mean, could you?" God, he sounded like such a virgin. 

Max stared up at him, the quiet before the storm. He clutched the front of his shirt and pulled him down onto his lap, eyes never straying from Gio's. "I'm going to fucking ruin you."

Giovanni smiled ruefully. _You already have._

_*****_

_1 week ago._

Braving another walk of shame from Max's apartment to his own through sunlit Harlem streets, Giovanni once again found himself wondering what the rules of their arrangement were. The one thing he knew was that every time they ended up in bed together—or on another surface—he felt like he was walking on shaky ground. Ever since he had realized that his feelings for Max far extended those of friendship, he had been barraged with thoughts of the other man that he had previously managed to keep at bay. And it wasn't like it hadn't already been bad before, goddammit, but at this point, if Max were to say "jump!", he'd just ask "how high?". He sighed, putting his earphones in, the voice of Roisin Murphy lulling him deeper into his thoughts.

 _Just take me with a pinch of salt_  
_Break me, don't give a thought_  
_Shake me to the very core_  
_Go and play with me until you get bored_

Their hookups had become a somewhat regular occurrence—five times, if he counted the messy exchange of blowjobs in a club toilet, three if he only considered the ones when they woke up in bed together. It was those three that frustrated him, yet made him smile like the village idiot. Of course, this momentary happiness was based on a lie, an imagined stream of events so thoroughly distant from reality it was laughable.

It was a domestic scene that he conjured up in his mind when he saw the sleeping form next to him, sometimes he was the loving housewife, sometimes Max. (He would wake up early and make him a nice breakfast, pancakes and all; Max would still be in bed, sleepy, smiling and rubbing sleep out of his eyes, when he walked in—Gio would put the tray down on the nightstand and lean down to kiss his cheek, "some honey for my honey?"— _he cringed, perhaps not that, but something not far from it_  —Max would laugh, his voice still gravelly from sleep, and pull him onto the bed, into his lap—he would get distracted by Giovanni's stunning derriere or something of that kind and Gio would have to remind him, "hey, don't let it get cold!"—Max would smirk mischievously, "I could just have you for breakfast" and Gio would be tempted to take him up on that offer, but alas he would laugh and bat his hands away, all business—and then Max would say, "I love you"—and he would respond with a "I love you too, baby"— _oh, fuck. He was such an idiot. Why did he do this to himself?)_

 _You, you, you, initiate every damn thing_  
_I'm left to contemplate my fate_  
_What if we ain't a thing?_  
_And why did you begin_  
_To try to pull me in?_  
_It's a fait accompli_

He needed to know what the protocol was. They hadn't talked about what they were doing, the prospect seemed unsavoury and clinical. Were they friends with benefits? He supposed so, although the "benefits" element seemed to dominate over the "friendship" clause. There wasn't a lot of talking involved in their meetings, not to mention clothes. The same thing happened every time he sent Max a "Wanna hang out?". It had somehow become code for "Wanna fuck?". Jesus, Gio had even texted him in the morning, in the hopes that they would actually do the things that friends were supposed to do together, that they had once done. Granted, they had a nice cup of coffee—and _then_ they fucked. 

 _(We ain't a thing)_  
_Just play with me till you get bored_  
_You're taking me with a pinch of salt_  
_(We ain't a thing)_  
_Just play with me till you get bored_  
_(I'm just your plaything)_  
_You're taking me with a pinch of salt_

And while Giovanni wasn't happy about that, he wasn't sad either. How could he be? He would take any chance he could get to be with the object of his affections, and if he had it his way, they would never leave bed, ever. But not like this, not when he wasn't sure if he could even kiss him when they weren't having sex. Or hold his hand, or hug him, or anything. It sounded silly and yet he craved it—badly. But that's what you did with your boyfriend, not with your fuck buddy. So how could he even ask him if they could do those things? Max would see through him immediately. And if that happened, he would be in for radio silence again.

If those were the choices he had, he would rather just have meaningless sex and keep his feelings to himself. He knew this could only end badly and he would get hurt. But he would have to cut Max out like a tumour, if he wanted to save himself and he wasn't strong enough to do that. 

 _Nothing / plaything_  
_Nothing / plaything_

*****

Another city, another show—well, not quite—a blessed day off before another show. After a torturous five-hour flight with what seemed like an entire kindergarden on board everyone's initial plans to explore the local sights evaporated into thin air. They settled on drinks and a trip to the movies instead, 'they' being Aquaria, Miz Cracker, Katelyn and Bob. 

Gio had to admit the company was somewhat weird. He wasn't supposed to be there, for one—he had switched his tickets at the last minute upon realizing his initial flight was much later (the official version he told), and without Max (the part he kept out). It wasn't stalking if they were supposed to be at the same venue anyway, right? 

So he wasn't supposed to be there—literally. But he also felt like he wasn't supposed to be there, a different thing altogether. Giovanni hadn't talked to Katelyn in a while—he couldn't even say they were still friends, since the stupid drama with Cracker had happened, and he didn't know if Max had told her they were on good terms again (or what those "good terms" entailed)—and he and Bob had never been more than friendly acquaintances to begin with. In his mind they were both Max's people. Was he as well? He felt like he had crashed someone's party, but everyone was too nice to tell him to fuck off.

Now they were a little bit tipsy—three shots of tequila after landing, to celebrate that they didn't have children—and sitting in a cinema watching Isle of Dogs, Katelyn on his left and Max on his right. At least they didn't have to talk and there were, well, cute dogs. This was the kind of bonding he had been looking forward to, in a way. Except there were two people too many and his eyes ever so often drifted from the screen in front of him to Max's hand on the arm rest between their seats, so temptingly close to his own that whenever anything mildly exciting happened in the movie, their fingers would innocently brush together. His heart? Embarrassingly h*rd. It didn't take much, he was a sap. He probably missed half of the movie, but he couldn't even pretend to care.

They walked out from the pleasantly cool movie theatre into a sticky-warm New Orleans evening, daylight just beginning to make room for night. A mental lightbulb lit up over Bob's head. "Hey, let's make some cocktails and make a party of it."

Max smiled and lifted an eyebrow, not fully convinced. "Uh, did you just say 'make'?" 

"Yeah, let's buy the shit we need and go back to our airbnb." Bob laughed, turning to Katelyn, "KATELYN, IT'S TIME FOR BOOZING!"

*****

Bob must've been a bartender in a different life because the stuff he concocted was like nothing Gio had ever had before. Give the man a bottle of vodka and he'll return you sweet, magical deliciousness in a glass. 

Gio had to give him that. He could give credit where credit was due. After all, he was an objective, reasonable human being—he was, he was. But if Bob touched Max's arm, or knee, one more time, he would slap him across the face. It didn't matter that Bob could probably take him down with all the effort it took someone to swat a fly. 

Unfortunately, that wouldn't stop Max from talking to him in that annoyingly low, flirty voice—which he hardly ever used with Gio. It would probably just encourage it, _"Oh, Bob, baby, I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with that stupid little brat—let me make it better."_

Giovanni's face must've given away something because Katelyn eyed him with a look of mild concern and confusion. "Aquaria, you ok?"

"Oh. Yeah. Totally. Great."

A few cocktails more and it was time for sleep, they had a long day ahead of them tomorrow. Their airbnb was clearly not meant for four people, hardly even three—again, Giovanni remembered he was not supposed to be there, but since he had decided to switch his flights he had nowhere else to stay—but how had they planned to sleep there, even without him? The flat had two rooms, one living room and a bedroom—that was one couch and one double bed. Katelyn called dibs on the couch. It wasn't difficult to add two and two together. The image left a bad taste in his mouth. 

He slipped into the bathroom and changed out of his clothes, getting ready for bed. A perfectly credible excuse to leave the awkward situation he had put himself in.

Max was such a dick, such—a—dick. Couldn't he at least stop flirting with Bob while he was around? Was that too fucking much to ask? Of course he wouldn't actually say, "tone it down!", he wasn't his fucking boyfriend. He brushed his teeth with such aggression a dentist somewhere must've been rendered to tears.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts he didn't even notice when the cause of his turmoil walked in. Suddenly two arms wrapped themselves around his waist. Gio spit out the toothpaste into the sink like it had personally insulted his entire family, rinsed his mouth, and looked up in the mirror in front of him, trying to keep his emotions in check. One of the hands snaked up to his neck, tracing a trail of bruises there. He had to physically restrain himself from giving in and letting out a moan. Max smirked. His hand dropped, followed by a a slap on his ass. 

The word 'chattel' came to mind. That's what the whole episode made him think of. And that's what he was—Max's property. That should've made him angry, but his treacherous body reacted quite differently, sending hot shivers down his spine. 

Gio saw that Max wanted to say something, but whatever it was was interrupted by Bob's head peaking through the door. Luckily, he didn't catch them five seconds earlier. "You done?"

"Almost." 

He stepped in, just to hang out, oblivious to the awkwardness that Giovanni was feeling. The blue-tinted painting on his neck caught his attention as well. Jaw dropping,  "Damn, girl! I see you've been having the time of your life." Well, that was one way to put it.

He knew the bruises were hard to miss, Max loved his neck—and Giovanni loved Max's mouth, laying waste to it, even more. His eyes inadvertently darted to the cause of his predicament who had sat down on the edge of the bathtub and was innocently tapping the heel of his shoe against the tiled floor. Max bit the inside of his cheek, his face threatening to break into a self-satisfied smirk. 

He scurried out of the tiny space as fast as he could without looking weird and got under the covers, stupidly thinking of them as some form of protection from the horrors that would surely come. Maybe if he could burrow deep enough into the bed he could block out everything that was happening. But Bob and Max found him soon enough. 

Gio sighed, it was just his luck that Bob decided to get in the middle.

"Can we switch places? I want to be able to kick her in the night, goddammit!" Max said with a laugh, making him look up from his self-imposed despair, surprised and thankful. A quick reshuffle, mostly naked limbs across other mostly naked limbs. The bed was clearly not meant for three people, they were almost laying on top of one another, too close for comfort. It was hot, but he could feel Max's heartbeat, so the heat seemed like only a little hindrance he would gladly put up with. That is until—

"I can't, this literally looks like the beginning of some really corny porn film."

Bob snuggled him from behind, playing along."Oh, two twinky bottoms and a sexy black stud? Are we having a threesome? I thought you would never ask, baby." 

Max feigned offence. "Excuse me, 'bottoms'? How dare you"

Giovanni averted his eyes from the scene in front of him, cursing in his head. Why must he be in an unfamiliar city, with no backup plan, with literally no place to run?

Bob chuckled, "You're fooling no one. We both know it. "

"For your information, I haven't—"

"—bottomed since 2016. Uh-huh."

"I hate you, you know?" He didn't mean a word of it, clearly. The twinkle in his eye made Giovanni almost physically sick. 

"Did I traumatize you? Did you, like, realize I was the best you'll ever have and just gave up?" Bob was mere inches away from nuzzling his neck.

He bolted upright and fumbled out of the blankets. He couldn't take it anymore, he didn't give a damn where he would go, he just had to get out, now. He'd sit on the sidewalk until the sun rose if he had to. 

He grabbed his clothes from a chair, a river of words clumsily tumbling out of his mouth. "I'm gonna—see if Katelyn's already asleep, it's too hot here, you can—if you wanna, don't let me bother you." 

He didn't want to look at them, but there was apparently some part of him that was stupidly masochistic, so he did. They were staring at him, confused, like he was crazy. Max made as if to get up and check up on him, to see what the hell was going on. Giovanni darted out of the room before he could do anything. 

The other room was dark, Katelyn was already fast asleep, so he tiptoed to the door, as fast as he could. The bedroom door opened, a ray of light shining through hitting his face like in one of those old detective movies. He might've been caught, but he refused to be interrogated. Max stood in the light, gesticulating an unspoken "what the fuck?" with his hands, before he closed the door behind him again. 

Giovanni took the opportunity to escape into the hallway and started pulling on his clothes.

His private moment was shortlived. "What's going on?"

He had to take a second to compose himself before answering. "I told you already."

"I have no idea what you were saying, Gio. You weren't making any sense. And you're not making any sense now."

"Look, if you wanna have sex with Bob, it's cool, but I'd prefer not to be in the same bed while you're doing it."

Max stared at him for a moment, shook his head, and burst into a cackle. "Are you serious?! We're not gonna fucking have sex."

"Could've fooled me."

"It's just...the way we are, we banter. It's a joke. Do you seriously think we'd fuck while you're lying next to us?" 

He said nothing. He willed his mind not to focus on the "while you're lying next to us" bit.

Max's voice grew softer. "Where are you going? Come back to bed, we'll shut up, I promise."

Gio reluctantly agreed, trailing after him into the bedroom and getting into bed. Bob turned off the light. "Goodnight, bitches." 

Bob was out cold. Minutes later he felt Max's arms envelop him, spooning him from behind. A sleepy voice, hardly a whisper, "Better, princess?"

He smiled to himself and nodded. 

*****

Giovanni wasn't lying when he said it was hot—it was so bad he woke up in the middle of the night. Shuffling slightly, he felt the man who was still obediently spooning him let out a soft, sleepy hum. "Gio...you're...god, please"

His eyes shot open at the sound of his name. Was Max dreaming about him? He turned his head to the side, to check, and accidentally bumped his head against his jaw. The other man woke up and wrapped his arm tighter around his body, pulling him closer, willing him to go back to sleep.

He couldn't. Gio bit his lip and pushed back slightly against his crotch, suddenly feeling a hard pressure dig into his ass. Max let out a soft groan; Gio's mouth curled into a smile. He let his hips roll ever so slightly. Max's breath hitched, he pressed his forehead against his shoulder in frustration. Gio repeated the motion, grin widening, as another groan, muffled by his shoulder, slipped past his lips. 

Max's hand slipped down from his torso to the front of his boxers, rubbing circles against his own erection.

He lifted his head from Gio's shoulder. Voice drowsy and breath hot against his ear, "You fucking tease." The words emphasised by a lick along the shell of his ear and teeth grazing his earlobe. Giovanni shuddered. He could practically feel the shit-eating grin on Max's face, as he pressed his face into his neck. 

"Sleep." 

*****

As soon as the morning came, everyone threw themselves into preparations for the show. Max was brushing one of Miz Cracker's wigs when he noticed Giovanni slip out of the room, a packet of cigarettes in his hand. His brow furrowed, he thought he didn't smoke. 

Katelyn had run down to a bakery they had spotted yesterday to get everyone breakfast, so Bob took the opportunity to talk to him on his own. He was curious, but he tried to sound as nonchalant as ever. "So how long have you and Aquaria been a thing?"

Max's hand stopped for a second, midway through the blonde curls. "What do you mean?"

Bob rolled his eyes. "Come on, you know what I mean." 

Shit, Max had thought Bob was asleep when they had their little moment last night. He blushed. "Sorry, we didn't mean to wake you."

"Wake me?!" Bob stared at him with wide eyes. He stopped making adjustments to his outfit. His focus was elsewhere. "Oh my god. I was right."

The words slowly registered in Max's mind and when they did he felt like kicking himself. "How did you know?"

"Oh, I don't know—maybe because Aquaria was looking at me the whole evening like she wanted to kill me? Like even my ass was scared."

Max shook his head, smiling. "What are you saying? That she was jealous?"

Bob couldn't take it, the other man's lack of self-esteem was ridiculous. Because that's what this was all about. He knew him well enough to know that he thought he was unloveable. And so he was blind. Bob stared at him without blinking, until he looked up from brushing that damn wig that no longer required any brushing anyway. "Yes, Max. She was jealous. Very much so.  "

"Bob, we're not a thing, we're not dating. We're just...messing around." 

Bob bit his cheek, unsure whether he should say anything. He did. His voice soft, "You might think that the two of you are just having a little bit of fun, but—and I hate to be the one to break it to you—he's in love with you, Max."

Max didn't reply. Bob already knew he was trying to come up with other explanations for Aquaria's behaviour in his head and it just wouldn't do.

"I'm serious. Have you seen the way he looks at you?"

Before they could finish their conversation, the door to the flat opened. "Damn, it's hot outside, I didn't bring enough powder for this shit."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes me so happy! Talk to me! Yell at me! Either way, I don't mind. 
> 
> I hope the wait was worth it (emphasis on 'hope')!


	10. Overpowered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max ponders over what Bob told him and things reach a boiling point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder, again, because some people are clearly not getting it: this is 99.9% fiction and 0.1% reality. 
> 
> Songs in chapter titles so far: 1. The Rolling Stones - Under My Thumb / 2. Tina Turner - Private Dancer / 3. The Platters - Smoke Gets In Your Eyes / 4. The Rolling Stones - Play With Fire / 5. New Order - Shellshock / 6. Depeche Mode - Strangelove / 7. Pet Shop Boys - Domino Dancing / 8. The Cardigans - My Favourite Game / 9. Róisín Murphy - Plaything / 10. Róisín Murphy - Overpowered

“ _I'm serious. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”_

Max wasn't oblivious, not even his self-esteem was that low. He had noticed Giovanni's peculiar behaviour, particularly in the aftermath of their second night together. Whether his interpretation of what was going on in the younger man's mind matched Bob's was a different thing (it didn't). But mostly Max tried not to dwell on it, because if he did he would have to confront certain nasty habits of his own.

Without dragging any emotions into this, he could tell Gio was running after him. He was texting him, be it day or night, he wanted to meet up whenever they happened to be in the same city at the same time—and sometimes when they weren't ( _“It's only a two-hour ride, I'll go to you if you're busy ;)”_ ).

Max would be lying to himself if he said it didn't stroke his ego. He wasn't the type to be chased. He would also be lying to himself if he said that he didn't want to see him. He was waiting for those meetings like his life depended on it, but he liked the attention Giovanni was laying on him far too much to act like it. He didn't think Giovanni cared too much about it anyway, they were just having sex—really, really good sex, but sex nonetheless. So when Bob so kindly offered his input on things he knew nothing about, Max almost burst into laughter.

He didn't think Gio was in love with him—the thought seemed absurd, it wasn't even on the periphery of things that could be true. There was nothing for him to be in love with. And he wasn't wallowing in self-pity when he realised that. They had nothing in common, Aquaria was a superstar, in Giovanni's own words, and he was...funny and somewhat clever. He didn't go to cool parties, his fashion sense was questionable at best, he didn't live the “high life”—the list could go on and on. It was just the truth. What the fuck would they talk about? Fashion? Or books?

There wasn't anything bad about those things, he just wasn't the type Giovanni could fall in love with. And he hated Bob just a little for planting the idea in his mind because he didn't want to have even a grain of misplaced hope, he didn't want to think about it. He was thinking about Giovanni enough as it was.

No, Max knew exactly what effect he had on him. It had become clear as day that the younger man wanted to fuck him. He remembered Monet had an old shirt that always made him laugh whenever she wore it—it said, loud and proud, “good dick will imprison you”. You didn't have to be in love with the person attached to that dick for the statement to still ring true, Max knew that much.

And he knew he was good—and Gio was over ten years younger than him, he couldn't possibly have even half of his experience. He still remembered the way he had been in his early twenties, he fell in love every other night. If that was the case, Max might as well have his fun with him and let Giovanni chase after him. He could allow himself to be a little cruel.

At the core of his cruelty was lurking the past, of course. Max could hold a grudge better than anyone. Giovanni had dropped him like he was a sack of garbage over a year ago. Over what? Over fucking what? Although he had apologized, Max still didn't know what he he had done wrong—and it must've been him because Gio had been everything, Max had been completely blind to any faults he might have had. He always looked at him like he had put stars in the sky, even then when they had only been friends. Maybe that was it, he had liked him too much, he had been overbearing. 

Giovanni's sudden ghosting had ruined him. In the months that followed, he had become almost fearfully fixated on him. He couldn't stop thinking about it. It was humiliating, the way his mind would not let him leave it be. He was too embarrassed to tell even Katelyn about what was going on in his head. By the end of it he doubted whether he had an ounce of self-esteem left. The memory still terrified him, he didn't want Giovanni to get too close to him again.

So there was nothing he liked better than seeing the beautiful, talented, self-confident, if not a little arrogant, man act like his obedient little puppy, lapping up any bit of attention Max threw his way. A slight touch from Max and Giovanni virtually unravelled in front of him. It was a divine sight that would make for a nice memory when Giovanni inevitably dropped him again. At least he would have that. 

*****

Max woke up with a face full of dark hair and a ray of sun hitting him square in the face. Surely if he didn't open his eyes, the moment would last forever; Giovanni smelled like his own cheap herbal shampoo, all of a sudden his favourite smell in the world. If he wasn't still half-asleep, he'd cringe at his own corniness.

The moment didn't last forever. His alarm clock rudely interrupted the idyllic scene and the sleeping beauty next to him let out a soft groan of displeasure, opening his eyes.

Max's face lit up.  “Want me to make you breakfast?”

Max smiled at him and Giovanni could feel his stomach drop through the floor, down six stories, through the basement, and reach the core of Earth. “No, I-I don't think I can stay”

“Oh. I thought you said you had nothing to do until noon.”

"I—forgot. I actually have to buy some fabric for this look I'm planning." The younger man sat up, hasty to get away.

Max's smile dropped, a look of angry annoyance planting itself in its place. Gio was a bad liar, he always had been. He couldn't even look at him. Max was too old to be playing these sorts of games; if Giovanni didn't want to stay he could just say so, they weren't dating, they were nothing. But, then again,—of course. What did he expect? He didn't know what he had been thinking. He was sharing a bed with a fucking child, a fickle boy with fickle affections.

"Fine, fuck off then." That took far more nerve than he thought he had. Because Max was pathetically scared of pissing him off—he knew if he did, Giovanni might never come back. And he needed this, he needed whatever it was that they were doing. Thankfully, his anger was doing the talking for him and saving his crumbling self-esteem, although he knew he would come to regret it soon enough. 

Giovanni's mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "Don't worry. I always do, Max." There was nothing he wanted more than to run away, he could already feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and he'd be damned if he let the other man see him cry. 

Max was still sitting in his bed, dumbfounded, watching Giovanni get ready at a speed that would put any US marine to shame. "What the fuck does that mean?"

He opted not to answer and darted to the door, choking back a mirthless laugh. This had apparently become a habit with him—Max had turned him into a goddamn drama queen, but he was too upset to be embarrassed. Give it a few hours.

Something was off—way off—but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The fear that his anger had kept at bay came back with a vengeance, as Giovanni slammed shut the door of his bedroom, a strange finality to the noise. He searched the room for his underwear and ran after him. 

Giovanni was quick. Max cursed under his breath, as he scrambled out of his flat in his boxers, praying that the sweet old lady living next door wouldn't stumble upon him looking like a crazy man. He caught Gio by the elevator, repeatedly slamming the 'open' button.

Max grabbed his arm. Giovanni pulled away, stubbornly refusing to face him. "Why are you making a scene? Can you talk to me, please?"

"No." 

His voice cut Max like a knife, he didn't have to see his face to know that he was crying. He tried again, and Giovanni gave in, turning around, ashamed. Instinctively, his hand shot up to wipe away the tears from his friend's face.

Giovanni leaned away from his touch like it had scorched him and angrily wiped at his eyes, trying to regain his composure. "Happy now?"

His voice softened. "Why are you crying, Gio?"

A trace of affection was enough to bring on another flood of tears. Giovanni truly hated himself. What could he say? There was nothing—nothing that could save his skin, and his mind refused to cooperate to come up with any credible excuse.

He opted for honesty, of sorts. "Because I'm a fool."

Seeing the tear-stained cheeks of his own personal torturer, Max felt inexplicable guilt. He couldn't stay mad, he wanted to placate him, to reassure him, to cradle him in his arms and tell him that everything was alright, even though that meant swallowing his own hurt and self-respect. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. It's just—why do you have to lie? And I'm sorry if I made it weird, we don't have to have breakfast in bed, it's not a big deal, you know?"

Gio looked at him, through him, with a faraway look on his face. "You didn't make anything weird, Max. You just—I mean, this whole thing...it just sometimes confuses me."

"In what sense?"

"Like, I don't know what the boundaries are—what's acceptable and what isn't."

He responded without a moment's hesitation. "There are none. Not if you don't want there to be."

Giovanni shook his head, smiling ruefully. "You can't say that, Max—please, you can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't understand what I mean." 

"Then tell me, Gio."

"For instance—sometimes—I want to kiss you when we're not in bed, when we're not having sex."

"What's stopping you?"

"And sometimes I—want to hold your hand." 

Max swallowed hard. Again, "What's stopping you?"

"You don't understand."

"I think I do."

"Say it."

Max laughed. "Why are you making me say it?"

"Because it terrifies me, Max."

It terrified him as well because he hadn't even dared to think it—still didn't dare to think it. "You—like me." 

A pause. He knew he was already fucked; Max might as well pull the trigger and put him out of his misery. "Come on, you can do better than that."

"You're in love with me."

He resigned to his fate. "There." 

"Are you sure?"

He had no clue what was going on in Max's mind, his face was a perfect blank and Giovanni was scared. He had to pull himself together and drag himself away from the scene of the accident like a wounded animal. "Do you want us to stop sleeping together now?" His lame declaration of love didn't have to be a big thing, he could play it down if it meant he could just have what they had before. "Because it's fine—we can still have sex, I won't bother you, I promise, I'll get over it eventually."

Max snapped, as his friend's confession finally sank in. "I don't want you to get over it, Giovanni. Fuck, that's what scares me. Clearly getting over people is not a problem for you. I would know."

So Max wanted to return to their usual topic of contention like he hadn't just seconds ago admitted that he was in love with him. Great, maybe they could fight and forget what he had just said. But there was one difference. The emotional turmoil of the moment opened up a well of shit in his mind that he had successfully repressed for the past year. Bitter, his words came out before he even realized what he was saying. "You got a boyfriend, remember? Max and Thomas, always together—inseparable. You didn't need me. You were practically planning your wedding."

Max was seeing red while teetering on the verge of tears himself. Giovanni was such a brat—a brat who needed everyone's attention to be on him 24/7, with no regard for anyone's feelings but his own. "Except I did fucking need you. You can't cut out of your life the people you're closest with, the people who rely on you, who you say you care about, without any explanation. It's cruel. It's manipulative. Do you have any idea how much it fucked me up? I kept asking myself, "what did I do wrong?", I kept going over every single fucking time we spoke, trying to find a sign, anything. You made me obsessed with you."

Max was angry at him again and rightfully so, Giovanni always fucked everything up. By the time he finished talking Gio had gone back to crying. Half-sobbing, half-laughing: "Hey. I guess karma really is a bitch. I mean, look at us now. Oh how the tables have turned."

Max rolled his eyes, exasperated. His voice sounded as tired as he felt. "Except they fucking haven't, Giovanni, because I'm still obsessed with you."

Gio looked at him for what felt like an eternity, gauging the meaning of his words, until Max could no longer bear his gaze and looked away in misplaced embarrassment. 

"Does that mean—?"

"Yes." 

"Say it."

Max shook his head. He just couldn't. Not because he wasn't in love with Giovanni, but because he didn't trust him—couldn't trust him—, not yet anyway. 

Giovanni understood. It was okay, he wouldn't ask Max to spell it out for him. This was more than enough for now, the intimation made him feel like he had been simultaneously shot with a heavy dose of both adrenaline and a horse tranquilizer. He reached out to touch Max's neck, letting his fingers gently trace the bare expanse of skin. It felt new and strangely intimate, like they had never as much as touched each other before. "Then prove it. Make love to me." 

Max let out an incredulous laugh. "How about I make you breakfast?"

His hand moved up to his cheek. "Please. I want to feel you inside me."

"God, Gio—"

"Does that sound tempting?" Giovanni practically ate up the effect he was having on the other man. 

Max smirked, amused. "I thought you wanted to hold my hand."

"I want—everything with you. I want to kiss you in the morning and make you smile, I want to cuddle with you for hours and listen to you talk about your favorite books, I want to take care of you when you're sick or sad. And I want to hold your hand." He stepped closer, letting his fingers slowly roam over Max's chest, over his heart, a smile playing on his lips. "But I think this once you can manage to do that while you fuck me."

Max pulled him flush against his body, letting his hand get lost in his hair, and kissed him. Giovanni allowed himself to fall apart in his arms, a beautiful little death. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I say I live for feedback, I don't think you know how serious I am. Some of yall are the reason why this has ten chapters instead of four, so thank you. Keep it coming and come talk to me! xx


	11. Only You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not as wholesome as some of yall were expecting.
> 
> (Some of this is very explicit, be warned)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in chapter titles so far: 1. The Rolling Stones - Under My Thumb / 2. Tina Turner - Private Dancer / 3. The Platters - Smoke Gets In Your Eyes / 4. The Rolling Stones - Play With Fire / 5. New Order - Shellshock / 6. Depeche Mode - Strangelove / 7. Pet Shop Boys - Domino Dancing / 8. The Cardigans - My Favourite Game / 9. Róisín Murphy - Plaything / 10. Róisín Murphy - Overpowered / 11. Aurora Shields - Only You Can Make Me Blue

Max did his best to manoeuvre them back to his flat, no easy task when Giovanni's arms were snaked around his neck and his legs were all too eager to twine themselves around the poor man as well—lest he tried to escape? Max chuckled, "I'm not going anywhere." The warmth of his breath against his ear left Giovanni no choice but to press his mouth against his neck, peppering the skin there with chaste kisses.

Once they got past the front door, Max picked him up and Giovanni damn near swooned right there and then. He let his hands trace Max's arms, unabashedly lingering on his biceps, making his job all the more difficult. "Take care of me, baby." 

"'Baby?'"

Gio tried yet another word on for size, his voice sweet as honey, savouring every syllable. "Darling..."

Max laughed, feeling a faint blush creep up his neck, but dizzy with a new kind of excitement. He laid Giovanni down on his bed and climbed on top, leaning over him and stroking his cheek. 

Lazily leaving kisses on every part of bare skin he could find, basking in Gio's words, "You want me to take care of you?" 

He whimpered, nodding fervidly, and melted into his touch. "You make me so hard, Max," he guided his hand to the front of his jeans, "Feel it. See what you do to me."

Max obligingly, slowly, ran his fingers over the entire length of Gio's erection, letting his words fully sink in and travel south to his own cock. Giovanni flicked his tongue against his jaw, "Only for you—yours, all yours". (In case it needed repeating; as if he wasn't already painfully aware of the strain against his boxers).

Max branded his pristine neck in agreement, biting and sucking at the tender stretch of skin until it bloomed with reddish purple flowers. 

"You can have me any place, any time. You know that, right?" A pause, and then, right in his ear: "I'll always spread my legs for you." 

He groaned, closing his eyes to savour the image—Gio was playing him like a skilled puppeteer, saying exactly what he wanted to hear, doing all the things that made him lose his mind. Max had never seen him be so vocal when they were having sex, it was maddening, it was infuriating, it was—Max realised then and there that he could talk him to an orgasm without even as much as touching him. Giovanni's words and the guttural, almost broken voice that had taken over his usually perfectly controlled vocal chords made his mind concoct dangerous fantasies, ones in which Giovanni was so overcome with pleasure, so utterly ravaged, so utterly fucked out, he couldn't say anything coherent at all, couldn't even think. 

But, unfortunately, at that moment he was still disappointingly overdressed, whereas Max was in his underwear. He pulled back slightly and set about fixing that grave injustice, letting his lover's clothes fall haphazardly on the floor. He made a move to lean back down, desperate to continue what they had started, but a long leg stopped him in his tracks, pushing firmly against his chest, making him fall back on his hands.

With his back propped against the headboard, Giovanni slowly spread his legs, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking on them, before wrapping his hand around his cock. "Watch me."

A useless command—Max could do nothing but, anyway. Giovanni stroked himself, his head falling back in theatrical ecstasy, his whole body trembling just for him, only kissed by the dark grey bedsheets on his bed, a stark contrast to the milky-white boy spread over them. His hand returned to his mouth, wetting his fingers before letting them go with a wet plop, and came down again, now skipping past his cock. He opened his eyes, looking straight at Max, as he pushed them into his body, one at a time, fucking himself, every now and again letting a wanton moan escape his flushed lips.

Max bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. How were they supposed to make love when Giovanni was doing  _that_? How was he supposed to show him that he loved him when all he could think about was fucking him senseless?  _You're a very, very bad man, Maxwell._

Teasing sweetly, "Wish it was you..." 

Max moved swiftly, pinning him to the bed, and intertwined their fingers above their heads. "Hmm, I think that can be arranged."

Giovanni's breath hitched at the sudden movement, his legs wrapping around him in a wordless plea. Max captured his lips in a sloppy kiss, tongue against tongue—Giovanni only too eager to give him full access to his mouth, to everything—, drinking up the filthy little noises he made. 

"Did I make you hard?" 

"Don't ask stupid questions, Gio." 

"I wanna see." 

Max discarded his underwear. Giovanni bit his lip, eyeing his cock like it was a Christmas present that came early. His brown eyes darkened as he made an attempt to free his hands, "Let me touch you."

Max held him down effortlessly, eliciting a frustrated whine, grinding against him instead. A mocking smirk spread over his face. "No, no, no—see, we're holding hands."

"You're awful." 

He let go to put on a condom. Max let his fingers trace Gio's thighs, then his navel, circling around his erection before stroking his own cock and coating it with lube. Giovanni pulled him closer, aligning their bodies in earnest expectation—

 

*****

 

Max burned their celebratory "we're in love with each other" pancakes to a crisp. Giovanni tried one out of pity, dousing it with half a bottle of maple syrup and using all the effort he could muster up to not make a face. 

"That bad?" Max looked at him sheepishly.

"Try it." He held out a piece on his fork. Max leaned in, apprehensive, and bit into his culinary creation.

"Oh my god. Ew." He spit out a bite of charcoal onto his plate, taking the offending dish from Gio's hands and consigning it to the floor. "Why did you swallow that?"

He gave Max a shit-eating smirk and winked, "I swallow everything you give me, baby." 

"That's literally the worst thing I've ever heard in my life, you're cancelled. I'm sorry, we can't be boyfriends anymore. I'm breaking up with you." Max laughed, covering his face with his hands. 

A brief pause. Giovanni bit his lip, "...does that mean we're together?" 

Max hadn't thought about it, not really, he'd just assumed that after their mutual confessions it would be the next step, one that they both wanted. His brow furrowed. "Don't you want to be?"

Gio's face broke into an eye-crinkling smile. He moved to sit in Max's lap and kissed his nose, wrapping his arms around his neck.  "I do. You know I do." 

They spent hours lazing about in bed in a state of semi-nakedness, ordering in more food than a family of six could possibly eat—all Italian, of course. If every day could be the same, Giovanni wouldn't mind, he thought while cuddling into Max's chest. "You smell so nice." 

"Don't get used to it, I'm disgusting."

 

*****

 

Giovanni gave Max the keys to his flat the same day they decided to be together. In the back of his mind a little voice told him that he was doing too much, but there was no way he could tone it down. Besides, it wasn't like they had known each other only for a few days. Why take it slow? They had taken it slow enough. When Gio did something, he didn't hold back, relationships were no exception. And with Max, he felt restless, he wanted everything and he wanted it on the spot like a petulant child. Max was the ice-cream to his internal six-year old. 

So when two days later he came back from a store and found Max perched on his windowsill smoking a cigarette he was only mildly surprised. Max was not yet aware of his presence, lost in whatever he was listening to on his phone. He put down his shopping bags on a chair by the door and took a moment just to look at him. A smile spread over his face. He could get used to this, to seeing Max in his flat. Before, they had usually gone back to Max's, but there was no reason why that had to stay the same way. Maybe the reason for his sudden giddiness was that this meant that he no longer had to brave more walks of shame—because there was nothing to be ashamed about, because he wasn't the only one invested in this like he had previously thought. 

He walked into the other man's line of vision. Max looked up, not particularly surprised at the intrusion. Gio put his hand on the side of his neck, gently rubbing the spot beneath his ear like he had come to know his boyfriend liked. "A dollar for your thoughts?"

"A penny", Max laughed.

"Hey, I'm rich."

Max stubbed out his cigarette. "Hmm, yeah, rub it in why don't you?"

"I'm so rich, and so pretty, and so amazing, and so whipped. You're so lucky."

"You forgot 'so annoying'."

"You love it."

"Sadly true." 

 

*****

 

It started innocently enough. "Let's go out to dinner."

Max looked up from his laptop, sipping on an iced coffee. "Do you have a place in mind?"

"I...may have gotten a reservation somewhere." He plopped down onto Max's lap. 

Max groaned, putting his hands on either side of Gio's hips to steady him. He knew full well what that meant. "Oh no. Giovanni, no—You do know I don't own a single damn suit, don't you?"

"Relax, it's gonna be fine. I'm not wearing one either, just throw on one of those button-up shirts and your black jeans."

Giovanni took him to a high-scale restaurant with a stunning view over New York City. In fact, everything was a little too stunning. They stuck out like a pair of sore thumbs. Wine—what they needed was wine, and lots of it. 

Two bottles in everything was going fine. Three bottles—Max loosened up, four bottles—Giovanni had stopped drinking, and Max got completely wasted. He pushed back his chair, making a loud noise as it skidded across the floor, and stood up, accidentally catching the silver utensils on their table with his sleeve, letting them fall on the floor. "I think I'm gonna be sick." 

People were staring at them, but Gio didn't give a shit. He quickly got up, and put his hand around Max's waist, guiding him to the men's room. "Come on." 

Max threw up. The veil of total drunkenness lifted from his eyes, he looked around. "Hey, this is nice." 

Gio had to admit the single stall was almost as big as his room, and way nicer. He had no idea why someone would put so many potted plants, or a fucking chandelier and a settee, in a toilet, but it was cute. 

Max pulled him to his body. "Imagine if we fucked here."

Giovanni shook his head in disbelief, laughing. "You're still fucking drunk."

"Not too drunk to get it up. I really want to fuck you." His hand moved to squeeze his ass, and pressed them together. 

Gio let himself give in for just a few seconds, closing his eyes, before he put his hands on Max's chest and gently pushed him back. "We can't. You're still too drunk, it's not right."

"What are you stressed about? You're drunk too."

"Not as drunk as you are."

Max rolled his eyes, getting irritated. "Are you fucking kidding? I'm consenting. You're not gonna r—"

Gio didn't let him finish, the conversation left a bitter taste in his mouth and he didn't quite know why. "Don't. Let's just go back and finish eating." He gently squeezed Max's arm, a silent reassurance that he cared.

They went back but never got the chance to finish their meal. An overtly polite man in a black tux man walked up to their table before they had even sat down and asked them to leave, "It's not the right place for this kind of conduct, some of our guests are quite upset. I hope you understand." 

 

*****

 

The day before they had to be back on road again, Giovanni woke up in a cold sweat. It was too soon, they needed more time—he wasn't ready to sleep alone, to lose Max's presence that he had grown so accustomed to. He sulked while making them both coffee, the other man still sleeping, unaware of his panic. Why did Kameron and Asia get to be with Max and not him? God, what if Max forgot about him? He sipped his drink and burned his mouth. Fuck.

His eyes fell on a pink bundle of fabric tucked over the handle of the oven door. He hastily stripped off his clothes, a plan forming in his head.  

Giovanni brought their cups into Max's bedroom and placed them on the nightstand, finding the owner of the said room with his head buried in a pillow, pressed over his face. Gio chuckled, softly tugging it down, out of his hands. "Don't kill yourself just yet, I made us coffee."

Max groaned, opening his eyes. His jaw dropped to the floor. He suddenly found himself fully awake, no coffee needed. "What—are you wearing?"

Gio bit his cheek, holding back a smirk, and slowly turned around, looking over his shoulder. "You like?"

Max ogled him, at a loss for words. "Is this...legal?" 

Giovanni positively beamed. "Do you wanna unwrap me or should I?" His hand played with the ribbon of Cracker's pink apron across his otherwise completely naked back.

"What have I done to deserve this?" 

He felt Max's hand on the small of his back, in no hurry, his fingers moving just a bit higher, slowly reaching up to untie the knot. He felt it come undone, falling loose at his sides. A bolt of electricity shot down his spine, a precursor of what was about to come.

He pretended to be deep in thought for a second. Teasing, feigning steely nonchalance, "You've been reasonably nice to me, I guess."

 

*****

 

Giovanni was more than excited to go to Chicago. To waste time in the airport Jordan had showed him tearjerking videos of dogs meeting their owners after not seeing them for some time and he had just dumbly mumbled "mood" in response. So yes, he had it bad. He hadn't seen Max in over a week—no, he hadn't seen his  _boyfriend_  in over a week. The word still took some getting used to. He couldn't believe his luck, it seemed like a dream. And he had become just as cringy as he had predicted before they were even official, blowing up Max's phone with "honeys", "babys", "darlings", and a plethora of other descriptors so sweet they'd give anyone cavities. 

They hadn't been together for even two weeks, if he was like this now, he scarcely dared to think what he'd do in months time. The next step was to tell to their friends. He wasn't sure how they had even managed to keep it to themselves for this long, but they had. And they had also come to the conclusion that they would do it together, in Chicago. Gio was dying to see the look on Jordan's face—his friend was under the impression he could keep no secrets from him. There was nothing quite like proving Jordan wrong.

"Aqua, you coming or what?" 

"Yeah, just a sec." 

_"i'm boarding the plane, see u in a few hours. can't wait to show u just how much I've missed u ;)"_

_Seen 16:03 pm_

 

*****

 

To Gio's dismay, the flight took far longer than expected. When they finally landed in Chicago he had already missed the show. His performance had been cancelled, but he still went to the venue, hoping that Max wouldn't have left just yet. Someone from the personnel pointed him in the direction of the dressing room. He followed the trail of distant, eerie music, sounding as if it came from underwater. 'I Like You In Velvet', it was a song he knew well, but, God, what a strange choice for this kind of a place.  

Just before he opened the door he felt a strange sensation in his stomach, which he chalked up to his nerves. He found out soon enough that it wasn't just his excitement to see Max. It had been a foreboding feeling, a warning sign in red that he had foolishly ignored. He had no doubt that the scene before him would be imprinted in his mind forever— 

Max, steadying himself against a wall, his head thrown back in pleasure, his lips parted, his neck laid bare, a slight sheen deliciously illuminating the taut expanse of skin, droplets of sweat pooling at the base of his throat, and his beautiful, capable hands clutching, controlling, a head of curly blonde hair that was unmistakably bobbing back and forth in front of his crotch. Despite everything Giovanni's bastard of a mind first found Max so beautiful in that moment that he could hardly breathe. And then it cruelly willed him to accept what he was seeing.

It was obscene—normally Giovanni liked obscene, but now he was sick to his stomach. Max moaned, his eyes drifted from the ceiling and met his own. An unfocused, glazed look—he was a vision of debauchery. He didn't even look particularly shocked to see him, there was no immediate reaction in his face that Giovanni could decipher, only careless resignation. Giovanni couldn't speak, he closed the door and walked in a daze until he got outside. Part of him hoped that Max would run after him like he had before, but he didn't. He wasn't done with the blonde, after all. 

That night he blocked Max's number and drank himself into oblivion. 

 _"I will fucking ruin you,"_ Max had once said, in a much different context. The words reverberated in his mind over and over and over again. At least he kept his promises. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I am the angst gremlin; everything I touch withers and dies."  
> I'M SORRY, I can't write wholesome content and this made way more sense to me. I'm not terribly confident about this chapter either.  
> Feedback feeds me. It's what I'm running on, so please talk to me xx


	12. Dysfunctional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout and what led to it (Max's pov).
> 
> TW substance abuse, TW mental illness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in chapter titles so far: 1. The Rolling Stones - Under My Thumb / 2. Tina Turner - Private Dancer / 3. The Platters - Smoke Gets In Your Eyes / 4. The Rolling Stones - Play With Fire / 5. New Order - Shellshock / 6. Depeche Mode - Strangelove / 7. Pet Shop Boys - Domino Dancing / 8. The Cardigans - My Favourite Game / 9. Róisín Murphy - Plaything / 10. Róisín Murphy - Overpowered / 11. Aurora Shields - Only You Can Make Me Blue / **12\. SATICA - Dysfunctional (feat. SAKIMA)**

Max's fingers wrapped tightly around the small, cold bundle of metal pressed into his palm. The keys to Giovanni's flat— _he_  had the keys to Giovanni's flat. And Giovanni had given them to him willingly—earnestly even. He hadn't asked for them, but here they were, in his measly, sweaty hand. He dragged his tongue across the roof of his mouth in a futile attempt to wet it and tried not to think too hard about what it meant. He pushed one of the keys into the lock and turned it once, twice.

Hoping Giovanni would be home soon, Max left the bag of Chinese takeout he had got for them on the kitchen counter and had a look around. It felt odd to be there on his own, even though Gio had insisted he drop by whenever he wanted. The last time he was there it was night outside, and they hadn't bothered turning on the lights—what for? Before that...he had been there some two years ago, if his memory didn't betray him. It was just as tiny and cluttered as he remembered, but still Giovanni all over—fashionable on a dime. 

Max went into his room. He didn't mean to snoop, but his eyes caught sight of something he didn't recall seeing there before—squeezed in next to Aquaria's sizeable wardrobe was a bookshelf, already overloaded with books. Some were still in bags, unpacked, on the floor. For the lack of nothing better to do his eyes scanned the titles.

Max recognized them—all of them _._ In fact, he had read them. He tried to bat away the thought that was already forming in the back of his mind. Just a coincidence, he told himself.Those were all well-known works, and why shouldn't Giovanni have them? Except then his eyes caught sight of several that weren't, ones that he himself had struggled to find in bookstores, and since when has Giovanni been fucking interested in the politics of women's labour doing the Industrial Revolution anyway? Max pushed it back into the shelf with more force than was necessary, an unexpected and inexplicable anger forming in the pit of his stomach.

He should've stopped, but then he noticed one of the books had a bookmark in it and his curiosity got the better of him. Max picked it up and opened it. What he had thought was a bookmark wasn't a bookmark at all, but a page of notes on the text. Max read it over. He recognised Gio's handwriting, even the highlights—because of course there were fucking highlights—were so very him. He closed the book and put it back in the shelf, swallowing hard.

Why was his heartbeat suddenly going wild? He couldn't breathe—a sudden rush of dizziness—the room seemed to have grown smaller still and chokingly hot. He needed air. Why were all the windows shut? He gave in to his fate, crumbling to the floor, hugging his knees.  _It will pass, it will pass..._

And it did. Not even ten minutes had gone by, but somehow everything had changed. He got up from the floor and went back into the living room, taking a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. He opened the window and propped himself against the windowsill. Maybe, subconsciously, he had thought Giovanni's love confession was just a joke, a passing fancy. But if it was just that he wouldn't have given Max the keys to his flat, he wouldn't have an entire bookshelf full of books that he knew Max liked. He wouldn't be trying so goddamn hard. Max wiped at his eyes, feeling himself tear up. _What's wrong with you?_ He rolled his eyes. _Stupid._  

He flicked the lighter and let the smoke fill his lungs. Or was he just lying to himself? Did he know that Giovanni was completely taken with him? When he heard Giovanni confess his feelings for him, albeit in his own strange way, he had gotten so caught up in the happiness of the moment he had done something incredibly foolish. He had given in to him, he had allowed himself to live in a fantasy that he knew he could never maintain. 

Gio wanted him. And he had been wrong, so very wrong, to think that Gio cutting him off would be the worst thing that could ever happen. It was the worst thing that could've happened when they were friends. No. It would be infinitely worse if Gio got attached to him. Max knew that inevitably he would destroy him and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Max was not fit to be with him. He deserved better—so much better. He didn't deserve to deal with his shit, his depressed moods, his self-destructive behaviours, his abandonment issues, his paranoia, his heightened emotionality, his... Giovanni didn't have a clue what he was in for, he had only seen brief glimpses of what Max could be like. And no matter how much better he got, he would never deserve him.

He felt like he was dirtying him by his very presence. The feeling was ever-present—it was there even the first time they had sex just after their mutual confessions. Gio had looked at him, the image of sweetness itself, asking him not to wear a condom. And Max had to tell him that no, he couldn't do that—maybe at some later time though? Giovanni didn't ask why, he knew, the implication was clear. He tried hard not to let Max see his face drop, but of course he did anyway. 

In hindsight, all of Max's ex-boyfriends had been awful—not just awful matches for him, but really, really awful. Maybe that was why he had even dated them in the first place. He felt like shit, but he deserved it. Awful finds awful. But not Gio. He was the opposite of that. What was he doing with him?

To top everything off, Giovanni had taken to calling him all kinds of cutesy names. He didn't dare to tell him how much he hated it. Every time he did it Max felt like a fraud—because there was nothing innocent about him, nothing that wasn't fucked up. Didn't Giovanni know that? All those pet names were a painful reminder that Giovanni put him on a pedestal. Giovanni was in love with a version of him that didn't exist outside of his mind, and one day he would wake up and see it. He would see the bitter, unhappy mess that he really was.

He had to break it off with Giovanni before it escalated to that. He swore he would do it as soon as he came home that day. But he also had to find a way to do it, because he knew that Gio was serious, he was ready to become his everything by the way things were progressing every day—hell, every hour even. He lit another cigarette.

And then he came home and Max just couldn't do it, not when he looked at him like that—Max was too selfish.

_"A dollar for your thoughts?"_

_"A penny", Max laughed._

_"Hey, I'm rich."_

Maybe the next day. (But how would he explain it? Giovanni would want to know, he would need an explanation. Telling him the truth was out of the question, he was wearing rose-tinted glasses—he would just laugh at him, and talk him back into his arms, tell him that he was an idiot, that there was nothing wrong with him. And there was, there was, but Max would give in again.)

*****

The week they were apart his mental health hit a low point. Yet it also gave him time to breathe, to think. When he was around Gio he was weak. He couldn't deny him anything, be it good or bad. Fuck, what he needed was a therapist, but that had to wait, he was on road. He could hold on, he'd been through worse in the past. He avoided talking to Gio as best as he could, without arousing suspicion. Thoughts of how to break up with him still pestered his mind, the idea growing only stronger, the conviction that it was the only thing he could do unmovable, but he was in no hurry to have that conversation. 

The day they were finally supposed to see each other in person Max was a complete and utter mess of nerves. He had a panic attack before breakfast and then one before the show. He still hadn't thought of a plan. When Gio's plane was delayed, he breathed a sigh of relief. It gave him more time. But after the show was over and Gio still hadn't got there, the anxiety returned with a vengeance. So he had a drink. And then another. And another—a pretty young thing paid for that one—and then for another. Max didn't say no. It made him forget why he was still there, staying behind everyone else. Suddenly, all of it seemed so simple. How had he not thought of it before? The boy was wearing a Miz Cracker shirt, he was buying him drinks, and batting his lashes at him. It was cute. He was cute—or, at least, cute enough. How could he say no to a super fan? 

Max took him to his dressing room. He was so happy, so excited—Max almost felt his excitement rubbing off on him, a pleasant change from the anxiety that hadn't left him in so long. And his mouth felt good, almost as good as— He heard the door open before he even saw him. He really didn't want to see his face. But it was his duty to look at him, to seal the inevitable, as if to say _See, Gio? See who you're really falling for?_  He didn't need to give him any speeches about what a terrible person he was because actions spoke for themselves. By the look in his eyes, Gio got it.

He was surprised to find that that whole experience didn't push him into one of his old drink-fuelled sex binges, his favourite cocktail of self-destruction. He just felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness. Every time the possibility of sex arose, he felt almost violently sick. It became so ridiculous he finally put on his big-boy shoes and went to see a therapist. It helped with everything, except the sex thing. He still didn't want to touch another man. His therapist didn't have to tell him that it was guilt—that, and regret. 

"Perhaps you should talk to him", she said.

He should've, but he didn't want to make excuses, or to bare his soul. What he wanted to do was apologize. He had to find a way to do it without dragging Gio back into his shit—unlikely as that was. He knew Giovanni well enough to know he didn't cry over spilt milk. His self-esteem was too high for that. Max had never seen him get upset over an ex, especially over ones who had mistreated him. The thought made him happy. 

*****

When they met again, two months had passed—two long, unbearable months since Giovanni last saw Max in that dressing room that still haunted him in his sleep. And that was no accident, Giovanni made sure to never be anywhere where he could run into him. Avoiding Max had become almost like a ritual to him, he no longer paid much attention to the many, oftentimes elaborate, steps he took to ensure he wouldn't see him. He knew exactly where he was supposed to be at any given point in time, following his social media like his life depended on it because in a way it did. So when Giovanni unexpectedly saw him in person, his perfectly built, sanitized world came crashing down hard.

It was a club in New York like any other, but he wasn't working that night. He was determined to let loose—and 'letting loose' had increasingly come to mean partying and drinking until he forgot who he was. Unfortunately, when he caught Max's eye for the first time that night he wasn't even close to that stage yet. Running away wasn't an option, it would be like telling Max that he'd won, that being in his very presence could upset Giovanni. No, he had to stay. 

But if he was to stay, he needed to do something to take the edge off. There were other ways he could hasten his descent into oblivion besides drinking. He saw a familiar face in the crowd and followed him to the toilets. He'd take anything he could get. Everything after that was a mild blur. He felt a strange rush of happiness, of energy, that every now and again gave way to an alarming feeling of impending doom. He tried to chase it away with more alcohol. 

Try as best he could, Max couldn't take his eyes off Giovanni. He was acting odd—and Max knew how he was when he got drunk, but this wasn't it. He never used to hug and kiss every acquaintance he saw like they were bosom buddies, he didn't burst into laughter or start a screaming match with someone from seemingly out of nowhere, or run around parties like his ass was on fire. Max recognised self-destructive behaviour a mile away. He saw Gio get another drink and he knew he had to swallow his anxiety and do something. 

"What's going on, Giovanni?", an all too familiar voice inquired. 

Giovanni didn't have to turn around to see who it was, but he did. He felt his blood boil. All the hours he had spent ruminating over what he would say to Max when he saw him again, all the carefully hand-picked words, slipped through his fingers like sand. Words left his mouth, but he had no control over what he was saying, his anger and whatever else was floating through his system ran the show. "Fuck you. Fuck you for acting sanctimonious. You know what's going on, you fucking asshole, I fucking hate you. Every day—from the moment I wake up—I remember how much I hate you. You like that? It must make you feel good about yourself—knowing you've done this—that you could've done this, to me. I can't believe I let you be the first guy to fuck me—you disgust me. I wish I'd never met you. I wish you'd fucking disappear." 

Max gladly took his verbal beating. He deserved it. His half-assed plan had worked all too well. He tried not to dwell on some of the things Gio had said—it was not the right time, he would put it off until later—and then he would probably stew in his own juices for days. Seeing Giovanni up-close only made him more worried—his eyes were completely hazy, his movements unpredictable, the words that fell from his mouth tangled together and began to crescendo to the point that he was afraid Giovanni was going through something more than a drunken emotional episode. Max could tell he had been mixing drugs with alcohol. Did Gio not know how badly that could end? 

"What did you take?" 

"Go fuck yourself." 

And then Giovanni went into another rant, this one worse than the previous one. Nothing he said made any sense. It was just words, random words that didn't go together, words that scared Max so badly. He prayed Giovanni would snap out of it, that he had some sense of self-preservation left, somewhere. But it was getting worse and worse. Not knowing what else to do, he slapped him. "I'm serious, what did you take?" 

Giovanni's hand shot up to his face to soothe his burning cheek, his mouth dropped open in shock.  _Howdareyouhowdareyouhowfuckingdareyou?_ As if to mock him, a sick excitement built up in the pit of his stomach. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands willing it to go away, but it didn't work, so he spat in his face, silent as ever, now mad at himself too for being pathetic.

Max didn't bother to respond, he grabbed his arm and manhandled him to the toilets, pulling him into an empty stall, and pushed him down in front of the toilet seat. "You need to throw up." Giovanni laughed in his face, dazed and defiant, and so very, very stupid. 

"You're gonna make me do it? Okay. As you wish." Max forced open his mouth, and shoved two fingers at the back of his throat.

Giovanni made an attempt to resist him, determined to challenge everything he wanted him to do, but to no avail. Max was stronger, so, sure enough, he gagged. Max removed his fingers and pushed his head down over the toilet, feeling a weight lift off his chest. His hand calmingly stroked the hair just above the nape of Gio's neck.

When he finally lifted his head, his voice was weak and gravelly, but clear. "Don't touch me." He aggressively pulled at the toilet paper, his face a total mess of tears and spit that needed to be cleaned up.

Max removed his hand. "Let me take you home."

"I'm fine right here."

Max said nothing, locked the door, and propped himself against a wall. 

Giovanni's scared little voice undermined his outwardly projected confidence, "What are you doing? I—I'm not gonna blow you." 

"If you're staying here, I'm staying here." 

"Really? We're—you're gonna do this now? Here? In a fucking toilet?" He rolled his eyes, getting irritated again.

"I'm not trying to get back into your pants, don't worry. I just need to tell you something." Giovanni sneered, but Max persisted,  "I'm sorry for what I did. If it makes you feel any better, I hate myself too."

"It does, actually. Thank you for telling me that. I'm glad you hate yourself. I mean it." 

"I love you." Max regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. What the fuck did he do that for?

The sudden declaration stuck like a lump in Gio's throat. He swallowed hard, steeling himself against Max. Like hell he wasn't trying to get back into his pants—like hell.  "Aww, shucks. Poor Max."  A pause. _Save yourself, Gio._  He stared down at him, laughing, all confidence, "Did you think I would still be in love with you, that you'd come here and sweep me off my feet, now that you've had your bit of fun? I told you I'd get over it."

Max smiled, a strange mix of happy and sad—Giovanni had him figured all wrong. _I'm so proud of you, baby._  "I expected nothing less." 

"I fucking despise you." 

An uncomfortable, tense silence consumed the space between them. Max's mind went back to Giovanni's rant. Something he had said bothered him, and he wished he could just forget it, but he knew there was no way he would be able to do that. 

"Gio...what you said earlier—did I take your virginity?"

Giovanni felt disgustingly vulnerable. It wasn't how that conversation was supposed to go—after they broke up he had no intention of making that confession at all—ever. "Don't flatter yourself. You weren't my first, you were just the first to fuck me." The feeling refused to budge, and he wanted to kill it with his bare hands. "First—oh, but definitely not the last. Don't think that you're special, I've lost count of how many guys have fucked me since. And all of them knew how to make me feel good, Max."

He clenched his jaw, willing the onslaught of mental images to go away. "Are you trying to make me jealous?"

"I'm just stating the facts, baby. Speaking of which, I was talking to this 6'2 wrestler on grindr before you so rudely interrupted me. You know, I can just tell from his photos that he'll fuck me nice and hard—"

"Stop it." 

"Wanna see a picture? He has a really big cock. I can't wait to have him inside me." Giovanni all too eagerly pulled out his phone from the pocket of his jeans and started going through it, pushing it in Max's face when he found what he'd been searching for.

Max batted away his hand, feeling his composure wither away. "Hit me."

"W—what?" 

"I said hit me. If you hate me, then hit me." 

Gio stared at him, incredulous. "Are you out of your mind?" 

"Let it off your chest. Come on, I know you want to, I make you sick." He stepped closer to him, looking into his eyes, an open invitation for Giovanni to do his worst. He meant it.

Giovanni made a poor attempt at pushing him back against the wall. 

"Is that it? I thought you hated me." 

He repeated the motion, putting scarcely more strength into it. Max bounced back effortlessly, a bittersweet smile twisting his mouth as he realized that he had read Gio wrong, too. "I thought you hated me, Giovanni."

"Fuck you. Fuck you." Giovanni let out a long-held cry, equal parts furious and sad that Max had called his bluff. He grabbed onto Max's shirt, and just as quickly let it go. He had never felt smaller. "Why, Max?" The question that had been bothering him ever since that daysilent on his tongue.  _Wasn't I good enough?_

How could Max respond to that? He was either not sober enough or not drunk enough for that conversation. But Giovanni was looking at him with such sad eyes that he hated himself even more in that moment. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. 

Disappointed but not surprised, Gio gave up on waiting for an explanation. He turned his head to the side, suddenly embarrassed and keenly aware of the other man's proximity. "Don't stand so close to me. I feel disgusting, my breath must reek."

Max lifted up his hand, gently turning Gio's face to him, making him look up. "I don't give a shit. Let me take you home. Or do you still want to...talk to that grindr guy tonight?" 

"I don't. I hope you're happy, you've totally killed the mood." His bravado was gone. He decided to discard his self-respect too. He closed the distance between them and enveloped Max in a hug, tentatively nuzzling his head into his shoulder. God, he was weak. What was he doing?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is my kink. Yall know how much I love reading your comments. You can even yell at me, I won't mind ;)


	13. Heart To Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max just wants to get Gio home safely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in chapter titles so far: 1. The Rolling Stones - Under My Thumb / 2. Tina Turner - Private Dancer / 3. The Platters - Smoke Gets In Your Eyes / 4. The Rolling Stones - Play With Fire / 5. New Order - Shellshock / 6. Depeche Mode - Strangelove / 7. Pet Shop Boys - Domino Dancing / 8. The Cardigans - My Favourite Game / 9. Róisín Murphy - Plaything / 10. Róisín Murphy - Overpowered / 11. Aurora Shields - Only You Can Make Me Blue / 12. SATICA - Dysfunctional (feat. SAKIMA) / **13\. Kim Petras - Heart to Break**

The warmth emanating from the body suddenly engulfing him, the ragged little breaths trickling down his neck, the familiar smell of Gio's coconut shampoo that lingered in his soft brown hair—his embrace took Max by surprise, leaving him breathless and helpless and thoroughly confused.

 _ _Why?__  Why had Giovanni changed his song? The question was less a matter of curiosity than of despair. He felt like screaming—not at Giovanni, but at everything and nothing in particular, like one of those loud cries little children let out before they can formulate their frustration into words. Hatred was so much easier. Max could take Giovanni's hatred, add to it his own, and let himself be cradled by it, and yet now it would be so easy to just—

_No._

His self-imposed celibacy hadn't bothered him once over the past couple of months, so why did its side-effects threaten to rear their ugly head now? The timing couldn't possibly be worse. Giovanni's heart drummed desperately against his chest, a hectic melody out of sync with his own, and he felt as though he was holding in his arms a beautiful, wounded little animal that clung to life with all its might, that clung to him with frightening intensity, knowing it would all be over soon, looking at Max to snap its neck any time now. He shamefully let himself close his eyes for a second, mustering up his resolve, before gently pushing him away.

"I'm calling a cab," his voice was strangely ethereal, hardly above a whisper.

Giovanni looked down in embarrassment, and nodded, swaying a little on his feet. If Max didn't acknowledge what Gio had just done, they could pretend nothing had happened. 

His phone lit up. Their ride was outside. They didn't say any goodbyes—no one seemed to have noticed Gio's breakdown just as no one noticed him leaving. How emblematic of friendship in New York City, Max thought bitterly, before pushing him into the cab. (All the while his mind tossed and turned over what could have happened to Gio had he not been there—what had happened to him all the times he wasn't there—guilty conscience nibbling away at him, even though he had no reason to feel guilty, not about this anyway. Giovanni wasn't a child, he didn't need to be babied, and Max wasn't responsible for him. But no, he couldn't even think that—he knew it was a lie. Besides, Giovanni's quietly moaned "take care of me" from months ago still lingered in his memory and tended to resurface at odd times, making him want to do just that—in every way.)

As Giovanni made himself comfortable in the backseat of the cab, Max was trying to decide whether he should see him to the door. He didn't want to overstep his boundaries. Gio seemed to be doing better—yet what did 'better' even mean? Max suspected that he had just run out of steam from the confrontation they'd had before. Giovanni solved his dilemma by scooting over to the other side, so Max gave the driver Gio's address and got in. As the car pulled away, he kept his eyes on the street outside, too ashamed about his own behaviour that night to face him, trying to sort his thoughts.

Minutes passed. He calmed himself down. All he had to do was make sure Giovanni got home safely. If Gio wanted to talk to him after this, they would have that long-overdue conversation, but he would worry about that later—if need be. He looked over at the surprisingly quiet boy beside him. "Where are your keys?"

Gio shrugged his shoulders, making no attempt to look for them, instead splaying his legs haphazardly over the backseat like a broken doll. Maybe he wasn't as sober as Max had thought. He went through his pockets himself, refusing to think about how close they were, and found nothing. 

"Where's all your stuff?"

Gio shrugged again, careless. Max sighed and leant over to the driver's seat. "Change of plans. We're going to Harlem."

*****

So far, so good—they had managed to get up five flights of stairs without an incident, the only thing left to do was to put Gio to bed. 

He unlocked the door, trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake up Katelyn. Giovanni foiled his mission by tripping over the front step; he latched onto Max to steady himself, not letting go even after he was back on his feet, his hands traveling up Max's arms, making him wonder whether the stumble had been accidental at all.

It hadn't been. Like some sort of a masochistic siren luring him to his demise, Giovanni moved closer until Max could see his own reflection in the shiny pools of his eyes. He closed the distance by tugging at his shirt, grabbing a fistful of the material when Max tried to step back.

"Use me."

The way he was acting made Max feel like he was witnessing Giovanni eviscerate himself right in front of him. "Don't."

Giovanni's voice was loud and desperate, effortlessly filling the small apartment. "Oh, come on, you said you loved me! You want to fuck me, I know you do."

His hands moved down to Max's jeans, trying to unzip him. " 'Don't have to make love to me, or even kiss me, just fuck me." 

Giovanni might be the one tripping on god knows what drug, but Max was pretty high on guilt. He wondered how inappropriate it would be if he were to break down in tears. "Please—"

The lights in Katelyn's room turned on. Max tried to move him to his room with even more effort now. Uncooperative as ever, Giovanni dropped to his knees instead, forcefully yanking at Max's zipper, pulling him closer when he tried to bring him back up. His knees buckled, and Giovanni used the moment while Max was trying to steady himself to slip off his own shirt.

"It's fine, it's fine," he assured, stroking his leg to emphasize his words, now definitely pleading. " 'Said you could have me any place, any time. I'm just a little whore for you—" 

The door to the other room opened, Katelyn rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "Max, what's going on?" 

Their eyes snapped up. Giovanni suddenly laughed, still not letting go of Max, instead bringing his face closer to his crotch, pressing the side of his head against it, smiling drunkenly. Max tried to push him off again, but Giovanni only responded by wrapping his arms around his thighs, closing in on him. Katelyn stared at them, dumbfounded. 

"Hi, Katelyn," Gio drawled. 

"Aquaria"

Max closed his eyes.

"Our, uh, _mutual friend_ doesn't wanna fuck me. So he says." 

Max looked at her apologetically. "I'll explain everything in the morning—"

"Explain? Oh. He's been fucking me. Well, he used to, anyway."

And before she could wrap her mind around what he had said or formulate any kind of answer: "See, he told me he loved me, but then I caught him getting his dick sucked. No—the other way 'round. He told me he loooved me afterwards—today!"

Giovanni redirected his attention back to Max. "And now he's pretending he doesn't wanna fuck me, but this...", he patted his crotch, "...is telling a different story."

Max rolled his eyes, trying to avoid looking at Katelyn and feeling a keen sense of embarrassment creep up his neck. 

She stood in the door to her room completely flabbergasted. "Max, should I—?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Don't be embarrassed—I hope you're not embarrassed."

"He took something at the club—", he tried to explain, but Giovanni had already done the work for him.

"We'll talk in the morning."

With that, Katelyn closed her door.

*****

Max all but shoved a suddenly yielding Giovanni into his room. He just had to do that, didn't he? What a drunk, vindictive angel he was. Max got the overwhelming impression that he had wanted exactly that to happen, he had wanted there to be a scene. And he must've known Katelyn didn't know about them. Nicely done.

"Are you gonna put me to sleep in my clothes? It's gonna be so uncomfortable...", a little voice behind him purred.

"So take them off", he said curtly, while rummaging through the closet to find for him something to sleep in.

"Mhmmm...Can't. Too difficult."

"You seemed to have no problem with that a minute ago, Giovanni." 

"Okay, 'guess I'll have to sleep like this then...I was kneeling in a toilet though," he said, all puppy eyes and exaggerated innocence.

Max rolled his eyes, walking over to the bed. He lifted Gio's leg, undoing one sneaker and slipping it off, then doing the same with the other. Giovanni smirked, lifting his leg up and hooking it over Max's shoulder in an attempt to pull him closer. Max sighed, putting the offending limb back down on the bed.

"You can take the jeans off yourself." 

Giovanni's smirk widened. "Can't...daddy."

The play between them continued. Max stared him down—Gio pouted—He sighed again, reaching over to unzip him, his movements almost clinical—Gio pushed his hips against his hand—Max pressed him back down, shrugging the garment off his body. Finally, he moved away from the bed, throwing the clothes he'd found for the drunk mess in his general direction, and went to the bathroom to get changed himself. No way was he gonna give Giovanni more encouragement by stripping in front of him.

When he came back Giovanni had already tucked himself under the covers. Max turned off the light and slipped in next to him. God, this was going to be a long night.

*****

His prediction had been accurate—sleep didn't come. Big fucking surprise. Dead tired, but still very high-strung, he looked at his phone. It was nearing four in the morning. He put the phone back down on the nightstand, feeling a little like tearing out his hair from frustration. Then, almost as if by accident, a hand brushed over his chest. Suspicious, he looked over at Giovanni. 

The hand was followed by the whole boy. Trying to be discreet, but failing miserably, Gio pressed his body against his side, latching one leg over his. Max swallowed, willing his dick to behave, as he felt him almost imperceptibly grind against him. Giovanni was, without a doubt, naked—and, if that wasn't bad enough, hard.

"I know you're not asleep. Stop it."

Gio pressed his head into his shoulder. "I don't understand. You said you loved me." 

"I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry." 

"Oh," his voice dropped.

It was enough to make Max feel like the scum of earth. "No, that's not—"

" 'S fine, I mean I know you don't. I just thought you at least still wanted to fuck me."

Max reached over to the side of his bed and turned on the light. Gio groaned, covering his eyes. “What the fuck?”

"We need to talk. I thought we could do it in the morning, but if we're both not sleeping..."

"No, we don't, Max. We really don't need to talk."

His voice suddenly seemed a little too sober, taking Max by surprise. "Are you feeling better? I need you to listen to what I'm gonna say."

"I'm better”, he said, finally putting on the clothes he had been given. “Can you turn off the light though?"

"Please—"

"Say what you want to say, just...turn off the light. I don't want you to look at me. Please." 

Max obliged. He didn't know where to start. He'd had this conversation planned out in his head, word for word, but now, in front of Gio, he couldn't remember a thing.

"You know that stupid line, 'it's not you, it's me'?" 

Giovanni groaned again. "Oh god. Don't. Don't you fucking _dare_ —"

"Before I start ranting, I want to make something clear. I don't want you to forgive me."

Good, because Gio had no intention to forgive him. And the embarrassment he felt from doing what he had done just now only made that conviction stronger.

"The truth is I couldn't force myself to break up with you—so I cheated on you because I knew you would never want to be with me after that. I'm sorry, I realize how stupid that was, but at that moment...” he trailed off, before continuing: “Us getting together was a mistake, I had been trying to break up with you practically since the moment we got together, Gio, and every time I tried to, I just...couldn't bring myself to do it." Max wanted to find his eyes in the dark, to see what was going on behind them, to see if Gio understood, or suspected rather, what he really meant, but he had no such luck, and for a while there was nothing but pitch black and total, terrifying, all-consuming silence.

"Wow, I feel a whole lot better now", Giovanni finally said, his voice like acid. "Fuck you—'Stupid'? It wasn't stupid, it was fucking cruel. You're cruel. Why did you tell me that you wanted to be with me in the first place?! I told you—I told you!—I would've kept on sleeping with you if you didn't feel the same way, you didn't have to fucking tell me you were obsessed with me or whatever other bullshit lie."

He had to tell Gio that it wasn't a lie, that he was obsessed with him, that he did love him. His stomach sank. As much as he wanted to do just that, he couldn't, because he knew what would happen if he did. Giovanni would never let him go, his earlier behaviour only confirmed that, and Giovanni had to get over him. That wouldn't happen if he still harboured any hope.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." 

“Try not doing shit you'll be sorry for, then you won't have to make these half-assed apologies.”

He turned to the side, away from Max, making clear that the conversation was over, and prayed for sleep.

*****

The morning came almost as a surprise. Giovanni half-heartedly opened his eyes. He felt feverish; sweat clung uncomfortably to every inch of his skin, chilling him to the bone, yet Max's bed seemed almost too hot, the blankets covering him too heavy, dragging him down. He threw back the covers and sat up, swinging his legs over the side, onto the floor. Cold autumn wind made its way through every crack in the wall, previously so well-hidden to the eye, easily sneaking under the flimsy, and now damp, t-shirt Giovanni had put on during the night to make sleep bearable for Max, and pure torture for himself because it smelled so much like him. He shivered. The worst of all, worse than any physical discomfort, was that he remembered everything. 

He could tell that Max was awake, but he remained quiet on the other side of the bed, as far away from him as he could possibly be. As if Giovanni being there was a terrible nuisance to him. It probably was, and it wasn't like he could blame him. He gathered his clothes from the chair where Max had placed them, and got dressed in silence. 

"How are you feeling?", a raspy voice asked.

"Good." And after an awkward, strained pause: "Goodbye."

Underwhelming—it was all so fucking underwhelming, he suddenly realized. This was it, the big goodbye, the moment of closure? He winced, not daring to look in Max's direction for fear of what he would see, and closed the door to the bedroom. He reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, not surprised in the least to feel his fingers brush against his keys. What fucking closure? 

The living room smelled like fresh coffee. Katelyn was already up, sitting in an old armchair that practically swallowed her whole, with a fuzzy blanket thrown over her shoulders and a large notebook in her lap that she was busily scribbling in. She lifted her eyes. "Good morning." 

Giovanni felt so dead inside even embarrassment over how he had acted now evaded him. 

"Sorry about last night", he responded lamely. "I'll be going now."

He didn't give her a chance to say anything else, closing the final door that separated him from what his mind had strangely come to consider the real world. 

Freedom. As he made his way down the hallway to the stairs, he felt like he was sleepwalking; his mind was empty, his feelings indecipherable at best, and completely numb at worst. The hallway reminded him of a hospital, it was still brightly lit, although sunlight already peaked through the windows. He laughed suddenly, the electricity bills of this place must be insane. What the fuck was his mind?

"Aquaria, wait—"

A feeling of deja vu. The voice calling after him was softer and higher though. 

"I know it's none of my business—"

He turned around.

"You're right, it's not," he snapped suddenly.

Katelyn continued, aware that she had to tread lightly. "What...what did he say?"

"Why don't you ask him?" 

"I think I know what he would tell me." She bit her cheek. "But I don't think it's the same thing..."

Giovanni looked at her confused, not sure what she was getting at. 

"By the way you're acting, I'm guessing it didn't go well?", she persisted. 

He sighed and sat down, pressing his back against the wall. Katelyn passed him a cup of coffee and joined him on the floor. If she wanted to play his therapist, he didn't want to deny her that joy—and if, in the process, he could convince her that her best friend was a fucking asshole, that would be an added bonus. 

"There's no way it could've gone well. He cheated on me. I knew that—what's 'well', Katelyn?"

She reiterated her earlier question: "What did he tell you?"

"Oh, he said he was sorry." He took a sip, trying to keep memories from last night at bay. "Like I care."

That didn't work, of course, and her silence only prodded him to reveal more bitter tidbits. "He's sorry that he didn't break up with me earlier." He snorted, "Cute, right?" —Words he regretted as soon as they left his mouth because he knew he was being unfair, because he twisted what Max had said, picking at it until it got worse and worse.

Katelyn groaned, shaking her head. "Oh god." 

Another pause.

Then, suddenly, she looked at him with such unexpected intensity that he wanted to run away from her, too. "Are you in love with him? Really, truly?"

The question knocked air out of his lungs. As if he hadn't heard her the first time, her voice gentle: "Do you love him, Aqua?"

He felt his nerves conglomerate together like a little ball of thread at the base of his throat, the same stupid feeling he got every time before he teared up. If he opened his mouth it would unravel—and fucking hell, it was only eight in the morning, and he was not about to cry on a dirty floor in his ex's apartment building _at eight in the fucking morning_ while his ex's best friend interrogated him over a deceivingly friendly cup of coffee. 

She looked at him knowingly, and Giovanni felt like he had already lost, tears or no tears. "Because if you do love him, there are some things you need to know. That I don't think he told you... that he'd kill me for telling you, probably." 

She sure knew how to keep her audience on their toes, Gio mused, already annoyed that his curiosity had been piqued. 

"I know he's been miserable for the past few months. Whenever that happened in the past, he would tell me what was bothering him, but this time...nothing. It was just empty bottles, cigarette butts—I know that he started seeing his therapist again, so I figured there had to be a man. I think it was you."

"I don't understand..."

"He told you he wanted to break up with you? That's why he cheated on you?"

Gio nodded.

"Anything else?"

"No."

"Smooth. Not lying, but not telling the truth either. He's good at that." 

She looked at him again, trying to break it to him gently, but failing: "He loves you, Gio."

He roared with laughter. "Bullshit."

"Ask him why he went to therapy. Ask him why he hasn't brought home any guy since I don't even know when. Ask him...why he has an old picture of you two tucked away in one of his drawers."

He tried to ignore the stupid fluttering in his chest. "Stop it, Katelyn."

"Okay, you can leave everything as it is and probably never talk to him again. But you want to talk to him again."

He wanted no such thing, Max was an asshole and yesterday had only confirmed that—mostly. Partly. 

"Swallow your pride and confront him."

"Pride? You think I have any pride left after last night?", he said, a little too indignant to be sincere. "Why are you telling _me_ to talk to _him_? Why are you not telling him to talk to me, if you're so convinced he—actually, secretly—loves me?" 

He thought he got her good, but Katelyn just smiled sadly in response. "Because it wouldn't do any good. He...thinks he's setting you free. That's his ultimate act of love."

Oh.

Giovanni simultaneously felt like he knew Max better than anyone and like he didn't know him at all. Because he knew what Katelyn was talking about, intuitively, and yet he didn't _know_ it. Little moments came floating through his mind—the way Max said things, perfectly regular things, in a way that left Gio uneasy because he felt like he was missing their meaning, the way he could deliberately make himself smile when he knew Gio was looking at him and how he could look like he was so far away, so lost, when he didn't know Gio was watching him, how his brow furrowed a little when Gio was trying to show him how much he loved him, how he acted when he was drunk—that time in the restaurant that Giovanni had tried to put out of his mind, and more.

All the things Max had done, that he had been trying to make sense of for weeks upon weeks until he didn't know what was real and what were figments of his lovesick imagination, came together like the pieces of a puzzle.

Max had never said anything outright—never,— while Gio felt like he had laid himself out like an open book. But Max couldn't fucking read. If he could, he would know he didn't expect buckets of roses and diamonds and endless lovemaking from him or whatever else gooey nonsense he assumed Gio wanted. How could he think that? Who was putting who on a pedestal?

He sighed. Why did Max have to make everything so difficult? Gio just wanted to love him and be loved in return.

Katelyn looked at him imploringly. "Please...talk to him." 

He finished his coffee in one gulp and got up. “Fine.”

*****

Giovanni burst through the door without knocking, startling Max who had only just managed to work up the energy to get out of bed. 

The pity party was over. “Hey, fucker, I'm back! I know you love me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the last chapter...a sad violin playing for my inability to finish this story because I hate endings and I'm a slut for your feedback.


	14. Say You Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giovanni finally gets to have the confrontation he's been after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in chapter titles so far: 1. The Rolling Stones - Under My Thumb / 2. Tina Turner - Private Dancer / 3. The Platters - Smoke Gets In Your Eyes / 4. The Rolling Stones - Play With Fire / 5. New Order - Shellshock / 6. Depeche Mode - Strangelove / 7. Pet Shop Boys - Domino Dancing / 8. The Cardigans - My Favourite Game / 9. Róisín Murphy - Plaything / 10. Róisín Murphy - Overpowered / 11. Aurora Shields - Only You Can Make Me Blue / 12. SATICA - Dysfunctional (feat. SAKIMA) / 13. Kim Petras - Heart to Break / **14\. Fleetwood Mac - Say You Will**

Giovanni strutted into the room like a man on a mission and made his way straight to the chest of drawers by the window. Stupefied, Max gawped as he opened one drawer, then another, a feeling of panic setting in the pit of his stomach.

He tried his best to sound composed. "What are you doing?"

Giovanni stopped his search, having found what he'd been looking for, and unceremoniously threw it onto Max's lap. "Nice picture."

_Fucking Katelyn._

"Care to explain?" Giovanni stared him down, his arms crossed over his chest.

Max felt like a stupid child. He looked down at the picture to avoid Gio's accusing gaze, but it only exacerbated the feeling. Giovanni was everywhere—one, angry and alive, in front of him, another one, smiling yet inanimate, staring back at him from his lap. Dying on the spot would've been preferable to the conversation Gio was determined to have. Only last night he had made new lies to add on top of old ones, making an apology that had probably done more harm than good, but that was supposed to set Giovanni free. And now he was supposed to flay himself in front of him? No, thank you.

He didn't want to explain, and he found that he couldn't even speak. The sensation was physical, like an invisible hand that had wrapped around his throat. He got up from the bed, his nerves bubbling under his skin, and shuffled about the room like a berated schoolboy, embarrassed about how he must've looked in Gio's eyes, but not able to help himself.

Giovanni's scrutinizing gaze followed him. His eyes softened as he sized up the situation. After what seemed like forever he walked up to the trembling mess, mustering up the bits and pieces of confidence he still had left, and cupped his face.

In a quiet little voice, sweet as sugar, taking pity on him: "Maxie..."

—he leant in, tentatively planting his lips against Max's. It was barely a kiss, really the equivalent of a butterfly brushing his wings against one's skin as it flew past on its own merry way. And, a little later, flew back again—and again. He felt Max going calm, his nerves unstrung if the quiet whimper that escaped his mouth was anything to go by. Gio's fingers rubbed soothing circles against the nape of his neck, sealing Max's surrender and making his victory complete—

And yet this had to stop. Gio was angry. Or, at least, he should have been—he had to trick himself back into the feeling.

"I could strangle you, you know?" The sweet tone of his voice made a mockery of his words. 

Max let out a dry chuckle. "I wish you would." 

"Who do you think I am?" Giovanni asked bluntly.

"What?"

"I said, who do you think I am?" He didn't expect an answer. "I mean clearly you think I'm some sweet, innocent little maiden, right? Maybe I should fuck that thought out of you. Might help 'cause you're the saddest top I ever did see."

Max swallowed nervously. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm just trying to figure out why you would lie to me and tell me you don't love me when I know that's not the case."

He kept his eyes resolutely plastered on his hands, and in a small voice: "I never said I didn't love you, Gio."

"That's a lot of words. I only want three."

Why was Giovanni doing this? He already had him by the throat. Max finally looked up, his eyes burning through him. "Fine. _I love you._ Is that what you want to hear? Does that help? Do you feel better now? _I love you. I would die for you. If anyone hurt you... I could kill for you, too._ That's not so comfortable anymore, is it?"

It was actually very comfortable. And not a little hot, which was probably—  _definitely—_  wrong. "Bold of you to assume you're the only crazy person in this relationship. God, why do you have to be such a dick?"

"I'm sorry." Max sighed. "I love you, you love me...but it doesn't matter, and you don't see that. Which is why I didn't want to have this conversation in the first place. I can tell how much you want this to have a happy ending, and it breaks my heart, because I can't give it to you...", he trailed off.

"I can't give it to you because I—well, I'm not a real person, not really. I will never really open up to you because I just can't—not to anyone. I'm...unwell, Gio. And I can't put you through that  _because_ I love you."

Giovanni snapped, "Don't make this out to be about my 'youthful idealism' or what not. I'm not stupid. Maybe I didn't know what I was signing up for in the beginning, but I've had a lot of time on my hands lately to think—you made sure of that— and, okay, maybe I am a little stupid, because I always think about you—"

"Really? Not of those 'many guys who've fucked you since then'?", Max interrupted, sounding almost dangerously calm.

Gio rolled his eyes. "Oh please, as if you don't know that was a lie."

Jealousy was a good look on Max, one that made something intoxicating fill his chest. He didn't want to let it distract him though. The realization that this was exactly what Max was trying to do dawned on him suddenly:

"You know, it takes a lot to love you", his voice was bittersweet.

Max didn't need him to spell out what he was referring to. He looked away shamefaced. "I know." 

Gio continued, as if nothing had happened, his resolve only growing stronger, "My point was that I know you. If I didn't know you then, I do now. Like I know you well enough to suspect that you 'opening up' isn't even the biggest problem here, is it, Maxie? It's not that you can't open up, it's that you can only keep everything in for so long. Stop me if I'm wrong, but I think you're not so much scared of being emotionally unavailable as you are of being an emotional mess. Not just that, but of being an emotional mess in front of me—because then, that makes you a freak, a burden, doesn't it? You can't find a middle way between not opening up and breaking down. That's what really scares you." 

Max was too taken aback to even try to stop him; he prided himself on his self-awareness, but he hadn't meant to deceive Gio—not now, not anymore. Giovanni _—_ who normally struggled to string together a full sentence, who was supposed to be a lovestruck baby who didn't know any better _—_ saw through him, knew him better than he did. And he still wanted to stay. Max was baffled, he realized that he didn't understand his own heart, the things it was saying, the tricks it played on him. Maybe he needed Giovanni to decipher it for him, he thought stupidly, his thoughts increasingly one romantic cliché after another.

"You think that makes you difficult, but I don't agree with that. I've met too many people who don't feel much of anything or when they do it's all neat and tidy, and it's like I'm not even on the same fucking plane of existence as them. It's not like that around you. I don't feel lonely."

Max looked at him, _really_ looked at him—beyond appearances, beyond all the shit that his mind had constructed about him. Half-excited and half-terrified, he found that for the first time in years the sincerity in another person's eyes paralysed the voice telling him that he was doomed. He bit his cheek to keep his body from betraying his mind. 

"I feel safe. I'm a scorpio moon, sweetheart—emotions are like crack to us. Besides, you know I'm a total crybaby. We can just like schedule a weekly breakdown and call it bonding." Gio reassured him with a grin, patting his shoulder, in no hurry to remove his hand from where it had landed. 

It could have been Gio's smile, it could have been the affection in his touch that he so obviously struggled to contain, or how nervous he looked waiting for a response—but Max lost his precious control. The Berlin Wall finally fell. He buried his face in his hands, the pressure that had been building up in him for months breaking out in the shape of tears. In between sobs he laughed because, really, this was ridiculous, he was ridiculous.

Giovanni wrapped him up in his arms without a word, pulling him as close as he could. After a minute, Max put his head on his shoulder.

"Well, you didn't waste any time." Giovanni chuckled against his neck.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Do you realize this is the first time I've seen you cry?"

"I'm an ugly crier."

"Liza Minelli, lies."

Gio trailed his thumb across his cheek. His eyes wandered down to his mouth for a second before going back up again. 

"You're pretty when you cry. You should do it more often..." He drawled, thinking out loud more than anything, his head already filling with filth. 

Max raised one eyebrow, holding back a smirk. Giovanni felt heat creep up his neck, realizing what he'd just said. "Ok no, wait, that sounds fucked up."

"I like fucked up."

"Oh you like fucked up? How about 'if you cheat on me again I will cut your dick off'?" 

Max heard the unspoken plea, the question hanging over them: if you cheat on me again—don't break my heart again _—let's give this another chance?_  His heart hammered in his chest.

"I like that, too." 

Relief washed over Giovanni's face. Still a little scared, Max fought the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek. 

"Gio, you're enough. You're more than enough. I hope you know that."

"Maybe I want you to show me." There was no 'maybe' about it, his entire body was practically begging for Max to do something, anything. He was sure Max knew, and that he still hadn't made a move was driving him crazy. 

"This isn't about sex, you know?"

Gio nodded a little too earnestly. "I know"

"Having said that..."

They were already so close it didn't take much work to pull Giovanni into a kiss. Far from the earlier flutters—a car crash. Max tugged at Gio's bottom lip, prying open his mouth; without missing a beat, Gio kissed him back, the salty taste of already half-forgotten tears tingling his lips.

More, he wanted more. He moved his mouth to Max's cheek, leaving kisses in his wake, lapping up all he could get—tears, the smell of his aftershave, him. Max moaned, his mouth falling open, the sight too tempting for Giovanni not to return to it once again. His hands got lost in Max's hair, pulling needily, angling him up against him and taking full control. He wanted everything, at once. His lips again roamed, now down to his jawline, to his neck; he could feel Max's breath escape his mouth in ragged exhales as he sucked at the expanse of skin there. Max latched his hands onto his shoulders, letting them travel down over his arms; the hands caressing him so excited, so desperate, he felt them tremble against his skin— _Max_  so excited, so desperate—Giovanni pressed his forehead hard against his jaw, closing his eyes, savouring the attention he had been denied for so long. "God, I want you so bad"

"You know you nearly drove me out of my mind last night, right?"

Gio's mouth curled into a self-satisfied smirk. "I did?"

"Mhmm."

"You were ever the gentleman. I really want to thank you... what form of repayment do you have in mind?" His hand lazily moved down to his crotch, his index finger innocently traced Max's zipper.

"Close the curtains." 

Giovanni did as he was told and looked at Max expectantly, waiting for his next instruction. 

"Come to bed." Eyes dark, he beckoned.

Gio removed his jacket, then his shirt. Max sat down on the edge of the bed, watching his every move as he made his way over. In no time at all Giovanni stood in front of him—a beautiful, forgiving angel, he thought, looking up. His arms found his hips, willing him closer—Gio obliged, and Max pressed his mouth to his navel. Eager fingers lost themselves in his hair, as he left kisses across Gio's abdomen.

Giovanni gently pushed him back to climb onto the bed, into his lap. Straddling him, he removed Max's t-shirt, and pushed him down on his back. Max scooted further to lift his legs onto the bed, pulling Gio down on top of him, pressing their chests together. Max's arms twining around his back, Giovanni buried his head into his neck, and then...

Nothing. Not an awkward nothing, not an exhausted nothing, just the kind of nothing when everything is just right—the kind of intimate nothing you wanted to bask in forever. Minutes passed; they could hear Katelyn doing the washing up in the kitchen—a police car dashing down the street, the siren blaring loud and proud until it disappeared in the distance—the old lady next door watching a game show on TV—a dog barking in the flat upstairs—above all, each other's heartbeat. 

At last, Giovanni lifted his head. Looking into Max's eyes, he reached down into his underwear and wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock. Moving his hand up and down in long, slow strokes, he ate up the slightest change of expression on Max's face. 

"How does that feel, darling? Am I a good boy?"

"You're a very, very good—" Max couldn't even finish a full sentence, his words giving way to moans. 

"Are you gonna come for me?" Giovanni swirled the thought on his tongue like honey.

"I haven't done anything in a while..." 

Gio drew his finger deviously over Max's chest. Goosebumps scattered across his body like clockwork, muscles tensing under his skin. "Is that why you're so...needy?"

Almost pleading: "I'm serious, you should slow down"

"Have you at least touched yourself?"

Max nodded, his eyes a mixture of lust and guilt.

Giovanni smirked. "What did you think about?"

"This—you. Of course I fucking thought about you."

"What was I doing? What were you doing to me?"

"You were touching yourself, fucking yourself—like you did that one time in front of me." Max had removed himself from the scene altogether. He'd felt bad enough as it was, just thinking about Gio to get himself off. 

"Did you ever look at my photos?" 

"Yeah."

"Good. Good." 

Max rolled them over, Giovanni now on his side facing him, while he made away with the rest of their clothes.

"I'm a little cold." Gio pouted, all puppy eyes. 

Max pulled the blanket out from under them and stretched it over their bodies, carefully tucking them in from all sides all the way up to Gio's neck. When Giovanni looked at him like that he could get Max to run to the end of the world for him. If, one day, he was to realize the power he had over him, he could easily get Max to spoil him rotten.  

"Come closer, let me warm you up some more." 

Giovanni obediently let himself be drawn back into Max's embrace. They held each other, another moment of blissful nothingness.

"I feel like a cute little burrito." He chuckled, Max's blanket-clad shoulder smothering the sound.

Max just smiled in response. By the glint in his eye Gio suspected that he was thinking about something else entirely, and Gio had a pretty good idea of what that something was. Pleasantly confirming his suspicions, Max grazed his earlobe with his teeth, sliding one of his legs between Gio's and rubbing it against his erection—innocent musings died abruptly along with the last remnants of laughter as a low moan filled his throat. He swiftly hooked his leg over Max's, their limbs now a perfect puzzle, and moved against him in an easy synchrony.

With their bodies pressed almost impossibly close together, grinding against each other more and more desperately, and the blanket enveloping them, sweat pooled virtually everywhere. Giovanni was far from disgusted, the thought danced delightfully in his head, reaching his cock. It was some leftover animal instinct; he wanted to make a mess—he wanted sweat, and he wanted spit, and he wanted come, and maybe even a little blood—and bruises, and bites, and scratches—because Max was _his_ and _his alone_.He wanted to mark him—to be marked by him.As if reading his mind, Max slapped his ass, hands grabbing onto his hips, and Giovanni had to dig his nails into his back to keep himself under control. 

He moved his hand out of the blanket only to pull it over their heads. Taken by surprise, Max snorted with laughter. While there was something childish, something reminiscent of a fourth-grade sleepover about it, there was nothing childish about the thoughts running through his head, so Gio shut him up with a kiss, flipping them so that he suddenly found himself on top and between his legs. It was an unusual position for them; Giovanni could hardly see anything, but he heard Max inhale sharply and that was enough for him.

"Oh you like that?" He smirked. "Maybe we'll try something new in the evening then."

Max agreed silently, wrapping his legs tighter around him.

The air, mostly just a deliciously suffocating interplay between their breaths, hung heavy over them. Max lifted his head, trying to find Gio's mouth, and instead found his forehead; Giovanni, eager to join in the search, leaned down, his lips brushing against Max's nose. He accepted his finding with a kiss and smiling moved further south. As his lips touched Max's, he resumed grinding against him, the grunts that interrupted their kiss being all the encouragement he needed to pick up the pace. 

They came almost simultaneously, a feat to be remembered. Giovanni threw back the covers, gasping for air. Max moved his hand down between their chests; when Giovanni saw it again it was coated with come. The sight was too tempting. He took Max's hand in his and brought it to his lips, sucking on his fingers, licking them clean in a show of meticulous dedication. 

"I'm hungry." 

Max peeled his eyes away from his mouth, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "Pancakes?"

Giovanni laughed, rolling off of him and getting up. "Pancakes. But this time let's cook together."  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me so long to post this chapter, but university and my inability to write wholesome things took their toll on me. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint you!
> 
> Under My Thumb has been a wild ride for me. I started this fic at a time in my life when I felt like I couldn't do anything. As dumb as it sounds, your feedback made me reconsider that (and it made me write at least ten more chapters than i had originally intended). I was, and still am, surprised and incredibly thankful when I read your comments. I never expected this fic to blow up as much as it has. And I never would have thought that writing Craquaria fic would actually give me confidence to write more (ugh your IMPACT!!). 
> 
> Thank you! xx
> 
> P.S. I might write some UMT hcs on tumblr in the future, if that's something yall are interested in?


	15. Engagement HCs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, don't get your hopes up... this isn't an actual chapter. I just wanted to let people know that I've made a blog for Under My Thumb headcanons and other related things, in case they don't use tumblr and aren't already aware of this absolutely monumental event. You can find it at umthcs.tumblr.com . The headcanons I've written can be found under https://umthcs.tumblr.com/tagged/UMT-HCs . Most of them are pretty explicit, so be warned. 
> 
> This is a little taste of what you can expect to find there. I don't think I'll be posting more of them here, but let me know what you think.

Three months into their renewed relationship Giovanni starts dropping hints about marriage. It starts off almost as a joke (”That blowjob had me writing my wows”, an oblivious Giovanni once texts Max), but the idea soon develops into a full-blown obsession, because _fuck, he actually does want to marry him._

 

He doesn’t tell that to max outright, of course; what if he creeps him out? He’s already run away from Giovanni before, and back then it was just an "I love you, let’s be together". And _oh my god, it’s only been a few months, pull yourself together, you idiot._

 

It gets way worse when he’s drunk. When Giovanni’s drunk he’s very affectionate and ridiculously touch-starved and he will find Max among whatever people they’re mingling with and sit in his lap, throwing his hands around his neck. Laughing, he’ll kiss his cheek and whisper something along the lines of “How’s my hubby doing?” in his ear. Max will force a smile and kiss him back. 

 

Max has noticed some of the drunken hints and he hates them. He feels like Giovanni is almost mocking him. It always reminds him that Giovanni is only 22; not only is he not thinking of marriage, in a year or two he will probably get tired of him.

 

This goes on for a couple of months until Giovanni can no longer take it. One night when they’re both alone after having just left a club and he’s had more to drink than usual the silly allusions stop. “Marry me, Max? Pleaaase?” He slurs the words against his neck.

Max snorts, his heart in his throat: “You’re so drunk”.

Giovanni’s not surprised, just dejected, “If you say so.” He feels like a kicked puppy.

 

The next morning they’re both curing a hangover. Neither of them has forgotten what Giovanni said the previous night, albeit for different reasons. The room is quiet, although they’re trying to play it off as normal. Giovanni’s mind is far off, he’s just staring into the distance while shoving gummies in his mouth; Max is eating cereal and trying to act like he’s reading something on his laptop and _definitely not paying attention to him, no_.

As if he’s suddenly had a divine revelation, Giovanni gets up from his seat, walks over to Max, takes his hand in his and slides a ring-shaped gummy on his finger. Max looks up, his face the definition of shock, and before Giovanni can overthink it or chicken out, he drops to one knee, his hand still holding Max’s.

“Marry me.”

“You don’t—”

“Shut up. this isn’t about me, I know what I want.”

Max laughs, still trying to process what’s happening, “Oh Jesus, bottoms really are getting bossy...”

“Maaax…”, Giovanni pouts and whines; the tension is killing him. He presses his lips to Max’s hand, once, twice, and brushes his thumb over his knuckles, looking at him.

“Yes—yes, Gio. In what world would I ever say no to you?”

Giovanni is so happy he could cry. So, of course, he does—but not before Max has managed to find another ring-shaped gummy just for him.


End file.
